25022	----	None 
7210	----	THE MOTOR GIRLS ON WATERS BLUE Or The Strange Cruise of The Tartar By Margaret Penrose CHAPTER I NEWS With a crunching of the small stones in the gravel drive, the big car swung around to the side entrance of the house, and came to a stop, with a whining, screeching and, generally protesting sound of the brake-bands. A girl, bronzed by the summer sun, let her gloved hands fall from the steering wheel, for she had driven fast, and was tired. The motor ceased its humming, and, with a click, the girl locked the ignition switch as she descended. "Oh, what a run! What a glorious run, and on a most glorious day!" she breathed in a half whisper, as she paused for a moment on the bottom step, and gazed back over the valley, which the high-setting house commanded, in a magnificent view. The leaves of the forest trees had been touched, gently as yet, by the withering fingers of coming winter, and the browns, reds, golden ambers, purples and flame colors ran riot under the hazy light of an October sun, slowly sinking to rest. "It was a shame to go alone, on this simply perfect day," murmured the autoist, as she drew off one glove to tuck back under her motoring cap a rebellious lock of hair. "But I couldn't get a single one of the girls on the wire," she continued. "Oh, I just hate to go in, while there's a moment of daylight left!" She stood on the porch, against a background of white pillars, facing the golden west, that every moment, under the now rapidly appearing tints of the sunset, seemed like some magically growing painting. "Well, I can't stand here admiring nature!" exclaimed Cora Kimball, with a sudden descent to the commonplace. "Mother will be wanting that worsted, and if we are to play bridge tonight, I must help Nancy get the rooms in some kind of shape." As Cora entered the vestibule, she heard a voice from the hall inside saying: "Oh, here she is now!" "Bess Robinson!" murmured Cora. "And she said she couldn't come motoring with me. I wonder how she found time to run over?" Cora Hung open the door to confront her chum Bess or, to be more correct, Elizabeth Robinson--the brown-haired, "plump", girl--she who was known as the "big" Robinson twin--the said Bess being rather out of breath from her rapid exit from the parlor to the hall. As might be surmised, it did not take much to put Bess out of breath, or, to be still more exact, to put the breath out of Bess. It was all due to her exceeding--plumpness--to use a "nice" word. "Oh, Cora!" exclaimed Bess. "I've been waiting so long for you! I thought you'd never come! I--I--" "There, my dear, don't excite yourself. Accidents will happen in the best of manicured families, and you simply must do something--take more exercise--eat less--did you every try rolling over and over on the floor after each meal? One roll for each course, you know," and Cora smiled tantalizingly as she removed her other glove, and proceeded to complete the restoration of her hair to something approaching the modern style--which task she had essayed while on the porch. "Well, Cora Kimball, I like your--!" "No slang, Bess dear. Remember those girls we met this summer, and how we promised never, never to use it--at least as commonly as they did! We never realized how it sounded until we heard them." "Oh, Cora, do stop. I've such a lot to tell you!" and Bess laid a plump and rosy palm over the smiling lips of her hostess. "So I gathered, Bess, from your manner. But you must not be in such a hurry. This is evidently going to be a mile run, and not a hundred yard dash, as Jack would say. So come in, sit down, get comf'y, wait until you and your breath--are on speaking terms, and I'll listen. But first I want to tell you all that happen to me. Why didn't you come for a spin? It was glorious! Perfectly 'magnificent!" "Oh, Cora, I wanted so much to come, you know I did. But I was out when you 'phoned, and mamma is so upset, and the house is in such a state--really I was glad to run out, and come over here. We are going--" "My turn first, Bess dear. You should have been with me. In the first place, I had a puncture, and you'll never in the world guess who helped me take off the shoe--" "Your shoe, Cora!" "No, silly! The tire shoe. But you'd never guess, so I'll tell you. It was Sid Wilcox!" "That fellow who made so much trouble--" "Yes, and who do you think was with him?" "Oh, Ida Giles, of course. That's easy." "No, it was Angelina Mott!" "What, sentimental Angie?" "The same. I can't imagine how in the world she ever took up with Sid enough to go motoring." "Say, rather, how he took up with her. Sid is much nicer than he used to be, and they say his new six-cylinder is a beautiful car." "So it is, my dear, but I prefer to select my chauffeur--the car doesn't so much matter. Well, anyhow, Sid was very nice. He offered to put in a new inner tube for me, and of course I wasn't going to refuse. So Angelina and I sat in the shade, while poor Sid labored. And the shoe was gummed on, so he had no easy task. But I will say this for him--he didn't even once hint that there was a garage not far off. Wasn't that nice?" "Brave and noble Sid!" "Yes, wasn't he, Bess? But I don't want to exhaust all my eloquence and powers of description on a mere puncture." "Oh, Cora! Did anything else happen?" and Bess, who had followed her chum into the library of the Kimball home, sank down, almost breathless once more, into the depths of a deep, easy chair. "There you go again!" laughed Cora, laying aside her cap and veil. "I'll have to pull you out of that, Bess, when you want to get up. Why do you always select that particular chair, of all others?" "It's so nice and soft, Cora. Besides, I can get up myself, thank you," and, with an assumption of dignity that did not at all accord with her plump and merry countenance and figure, Bess Robinson tried to arise. But, as Cora had said, she needed help. The chair was of such a depth that one's center of gravity was displaced, if you wish the scientific explanation. "Now don't you dare lean back again!" warned Cora, as her chum sat on the springy edge of the chair, in a listening attitude. "To resume, as the lecturer in chemistry says, after Sid had so obligingly fixed the puncture, I started off again, for mamma wanted some worsted and I had offered to run into town to get it for her. The next thing that happened to me, Bess dear, I saw the nicest young man, and ran right into--" "Not into him, Cora! Don't tell me you hurt anyone!" cried Bess, covering her face with her hands or at least, trying to, for her hands were hardly large enough for the completion of the task. "No, I didn't run into him, Bess, though there was a dog--but that's another story." "Oh, Cora! I do wish you'd finish one thing at a time. And that reminds me--" "Wait, Bess, dear. I didn't run into the young man, but he bowed to me, and I turned around to make sure who he was, for at first I thought him a perfect stranger, and I was going to cut him. In my excitement, I ran right into a newly oiled place on the road, and, before I knew it, I was skidding something awful! Before I could reach the emergency brake, I had run sideways right against the curbing, and it's a mercy I didn't split a rim. And the young man ran over--" "Oh, Cora Kimball! I'll never get my news in, if I don't interrupt you right here and now!" cried Bess. "Listen, my dear! I simply must tell, you. It's what I ran over for, and I know you can't have had any serious accident, and look as sweet as you do now--it's impossible!" "Thanks!" murmured Cora, with a mock bow. "After that, I must yield the floor to you. Go on, Bess. What is it? Has some one stolen your car, or have you discovered a new kind of chocolate candy? I wish I had some now; I'm simply starved! You have no idea how bracing and appetizing the air is. What was I telling you about?" "Never mind, Cora. It's my turn. You can't guess what has happened." "And I'm not going to try, for I know you're just dying to tell me. Go on. I'm listening," and Cora sat on a stool at the feet of her chum. "Well, it would take too long to tell it all, but what would you say, if I went on a long sea voyage this winter?" "What would I say? Why, my dear, I'd say that it was simply perfectly magnificent! It sounds like--like a wedding tour, almost. A sea voyage. Oh, Bess, do tell me!" and Cora leaned forward eagerly, expectantly. "Are you really going?" "It seems so, yes. Belle and I shall have to go if papa carries out his plans, and takes mamma to the West Indies. You see it's like this. He has--" A knock came at the door. Cora turned her head quickly, and called: "Come in!" A maid entered, bearing on a silver server a note, the manila envelope of which proclaimed it as a telegraph message. "Oh, a telegram!"' gasped Cora, and her fingers trembled, in spite of her, as she opened it. She gave a hasty glance at the written words, and then cried: "Oh, it was for mother, but the envelope had 'Miss Kimball' on it. However, it doesn't matter, and I'm glad I opened it first. Oh, dear!" "Bad news?" asked Bess, softly. "It's about my brother Jack," said Cora, and there was a sob in her voice. "He has suffered a nervous breakdown, and will have to leave college at once!" CHAPTER II MORE NEWS "Oh, Cora!" murmured Bess, rising from, the chair, and it was with no easy effort that she did so, for she had allowed herself to sink back again into its luxurious depths. "Oh, Cora dear! Isn't that perfectly dreadful!" Cora Kimball did not answer. She was staring at the fateful telegram, reading it over and over again; the words now meaningless to her. But she had grasped their import with the first swift glance. Jack was ill--in trouble. Bess put her arms around her chum, and slipped one plump hand up on the tresses tangled by the wind on the motor ride. "Can I do anything to help--your mother is she--" "Of course!" exclaimed Cora with a sigh. "I must tell mother at once. Yes, she's at home, Bess. Will you--do you mind coming with me?" "Of course not, my dear. I wouldn't think of letting you go alone to tell her. Is the telegram from jack himself?" "No, it's from Walter Pennington. Walter says a letter follows--special delivery." "Oh, then you'll get it soon! Perhaps it isn't so bad as you think. Dear Walter is so good!" "Isn't he?" agreed Cora, murmuringly. "I sha'n't worry so much about Jack, now that I know Wally is with him. Oh, but if he has to leave college--" Cora did not finish. Together she and Bess left the library, seeking Mrs. Kimball, to impart to her the sudden and unwelcome news. And so, when there is a moment or two, during which nothing of chronicling interest is taking place, my dear readers may be glad of a little explanation regarding Cora Kimball and her chums, and also a word or two concerning the previous books of this series. Cora Kimball was the real leader of the motor girls. She was, by nature, destined for such a position, and the fact that she, of all her chums, was the first to possess an automobile, added to her prestige. In the first volume of this series, entitled "The Motor Girls," I had the pleasure of telling how, amid many other adventures, Cora, and her chums, Bess and Belle Robinson, helped to solve the mystery of a twenty thousand dollar loss. Cora, Bess and Belle were real girl chums, but they never knew all, the delights of chumship until they "went in" for motoring. Living in the New England town of Chelton, on the Chelton River, life had been rather hum-drum, until the advent of the "gasoline gigs" as Jack, Cora's brother, slangily dubbed them. Jack, with whose fortunes we shall concern ourselves at more length presently, had a car of his own--one strictly limited to two--a low-slung red and yellow racing car, "giddy and gaudy," Cora called it. Later on, the Robinson twins also became possessed of an automobile, and then followed many delightful trips. "The Motor Girls on a Tour," the second volume of the series, tells in detail of many surprising happenings, which were added to, and augmented, at "Lookout Beach." Through New England the girls went, after their rather strenuous times at the seaside, and you may be sure Cora Kimball was in the forefront of all the happenings on that rather remarkable run. Perhaps the most romantic of all the occurrences that befell the girls were the series at Cedar Lake. There, indeed, were Cora and her chums put to a supreme test, and that they emerged, tried and true, will not be surprising news to those of you who really know the motor maids. As another summer followed the green spring, so adventures followed our friends, and those on the coast were in no whit tamer than previous happenings. Once again did Cora prove that she could "do things," if such proof were needed. "The Motor Girls on Crystal Bay, Or The Secret of the Red Oar," is the title of the book immediately preceding this one. It would hardly be fair to tell you, bold-facedly, what the "secret" was. I would not like a book spoiled for me that way, and I am sure you will agree with me. But when Cora and her friends made the acquaintance of sad little Freda Lewis, and later on of Denny Shane, the picturesque old fisherman, they had the beginnings of the mysterious secret. And in solving it, they bested the land-sharpers, and came upon the real knowledge of the value of the red oar. Those incidents had taken place during the summer. Autumn had come, with its shorter days, its longer nights, the chill of approaching frosts and winter, and the turning of leaves, and the girls I had bidden farewell to the sad, salty sea waves, and had returned to cheerful Chelton. Cheerful Chelton--I believe I never thus alliteratively referred to it before, but the sound falls well upon my ear. Cheerful Chelton--indeed it was so, and though Cora and her chums had enjoyed themselves to the utmost at Crystal Bay and in so enjoying had done it noble service still they were glad to get back. And now-- I beg your pardon! I really am forgetting, the boys, and as they always have, and seem always destined to play in important part in the lives of the girls, perhaps I had better introduce them in due form. To begin with, though not to end with, there was Cora's brother Jack. Like all other girls' brothers was Jack--a tease at times, but of sterling worth in hours of distress and trouble. Jack was a junior at Exmouth College, but, bless you! that is not nearly as important as it sounds, and none of my new readers need be on their dignity; or assume false society manners with Jack. For I warn them, if they do, the thin veneer will very soon be scratched off. A true boy was Jack! So was his chum, Walter Pennington--"Wally," the girls often called him, though it was not at all an effeminate term of endearment. Walter gave exactly the opposite impression from that. Besides, he was too athletic (which you could tell the moment you looked at him) to further such associations. Other young men there were, Ed Foster, in particular, who often went motoring with the girls, to make the third male member which caused the little parties to "come out even." Occasionally Paul Hastings, and his sister Hazel, would be included, but, of late, Paul had been too busy setting up an automobile business of his own, to ride with his friends. So much for the boys--though there were more of them, but we need not concern ourselves with them at present. Bess and Belle Robinson were the daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson--the "rich"' Mr. Robinson, as he was called, to distinguish him from another, and more humble, though none the less worthy, citizen of Chelton. Bess and Belle had nearly everything they wanted--which list was not a small one. But mostly they wanted Cora Kimball, and they looked up to her, deferred to her and loved her, with a devotion that comes only from sweet association since early childhood. "Cheerful Chelton!" Somehow I cannot seem to forego the temptation of using that expression again. It was a typical New England village, the nearness of it to New York not having spoiled it. Of late, the invasion of many automobiles had threatened to turn it into a "popular" resort. There was already one garage, and another in building, and to the trained and experienced motorist, no more need be said. It was to Chelton that Cora Kimball and her chums had returned, following their summer at Crystal Bay. Cora, after trying in vain to get some of her chums, by telephone, to come for a little motor run with her, had gone alone, coming back to find Best at her home, when the events narrated in the initial chapter took place. Now the two girls were on their way upstairs to impart the news contained in the telegram, to Mrs. Kimball. "Do you--do you think she'll faint?" asked Bess. "No--of course not! Mother isn't of the fainting sort," replied Cora, for Mrs. Kimball, a widow since her boy and girl were little children, was used to meeting emergencies bravely and calmly. "I wonder what could have happened to Jack?" mused Bess, as they reached the upper hall. "Do you suppose he could have been hurt playing football, Cora?" "I don't see how. The season hasn't really opened yet, and they play only light games at first. Besides, Jack has played before, and knows how to take care of himself. I can't imagine what it is--a nervous breakdown." "Probably Wally's letter will tell." "I hope so. Oh, but, Bess, I didn't hear your news. You must tell me all about it, my dear." "I will--when this excitement is over." Mrs. Kimball received the news calmly--that is, calmly after a first sharp in-taking of breath and a spasmodic motion toward her heart. For Jack was very dear to her. "Well, my dears, we must hope for the best," she said, cheerfully, to the girls. "Fortunately, his room is in order, which is more than can be said for it when he went away. Cora, can look up trains, or, better still, ask the station agent when one might get in from Exmouth. Probably Walter will bring Jack home as soon as he can. "It can't be so very serious, or Walter would have so specified in his telegram. I am anxious to get his letter, however. You might call up the post-office, Cora, and find out when the next mail gets in. Then you could go down in your car and get the special. That will be quicker than waiting for the boy to come up on his bicycle with it. Often he has half a dozen letters to deliver, and he might be delayed coming to us." "I'll do that, Mother. You seem to think of everything!" and Cora threw her arms about the neck of the gray-haired lady, in whose eyes there was a troubled look, though neither in voice nor manner did she betray it. "I can't imagine Jack ill," murmured Bess. "Nor I," said Cora. "He has always been so strong and healthful. If only it isn't some accident--" "Don't suggest it!" begged Bess. "Shall I come with you to the station, Cora?" "I'd like to have you, dear, if you can spare the time." "As if I wouldn't make time for such a thing as this. Come, do your telephoning, and we'll go." Cora learned that no train which Jack could possibly get would arrive until very late that afternoon, but at the post-office it was said a mail would be in within the hour, and there was a chance that the special delivery letter would be on it. "We'll go and see," decided Cora, now again a girl of action. "And on your way, Cora dear," requested her mother, "stop at Dr. Blake's office, and ask him to meet the train Jack comes on. While I anticipate nothing serious, it is best to be on the safe side, and Jack may be in a state of collapse after his trip. You had better explain to Dr. Blake, rather than telephone." "Yes, mother. Now are you sure you'll be all right?" "Oh, certainly. I am not alone, with the servants here. Besides, John is just outside, trimming the lawn paths. You won't be long." "No longer than we can help. Come on, Bess. Oh! and now you'll have a chance to tell me what you started to."' "Oh! It isn't so much, Cora. In fact, I don't like to mention my pleasure, after hearing of your trouble." "Then it's pleasure?" "Yes, Belle seems to think so." "Did you mention the West Indies?" "Yes, father has to go to Porto Rico on business, and we are going to make a winter cruise of it. Mamma and we girls are going, and what I came over to ask you--" The voice of Bess was rather lost in the throb of the motor as Cora thrust over the lever of the self-starter. As the two girls settled themselves in the seat, Bess resumed: "I came over to ask if you couldn't go with us, Cora? Can't you come on a winter's cruise to where there is no snow or ice, and where the waters are blue--so blue?" "Come with you?" gasped Cora. "Yes. Papa and mamma specially asked me to come and invite you. Oh, Cora, do say you'll go! It will be such fun!" "I'd love to, Bess," said Cora, after a moment's thought. "But there's poor Jack, you know. I shall probably have to stay home and nurse him. I can't leave mother all alone." "Oh, Cora!" murmured Bess, in disappointed tones. CHAPTER III THE LACE SELLER Cora, Bess and Belle were sitting on the broad, long porch of the Kimball home. It was the next day. To be exact, the day following the imparting of Cora's news to Bess, of her automobile mishaps, the day of the news which Bess retailed to her friend and chum, concerning the trip to the West Indies, and the still more news, if I may be permitted the expression, of Jack's sudden illness. Cora and Bess had gone to the post-office to get the expected special delivery letter, stopping on their way to speak to Dr. Blake, who had agreed to meet any train on which the stricken Jack might be expected. But, as it happened, his services were not required that night, for Jack did not arrive. To go back a little bit, from the point where we have left the three girls sitting on the porch, Cora and Bess did find the special delivery letter awaiting them in the post-office. "And I'm glad you called for it," said Harry Moss, whose duty it was to deliver the blue stamped epistles, "for I've got a lot of 'em this afternoon, and your place is out of my route, Miss Cora." "All right, Harry," spoke Cora, half-hearing. She was already tearing open the envelope, as the messenger rode off on his wheel, certainly at a pace to justify the old proverb that he was a rolling stone, even if he had already gathered moss. "Is it from Walter?" asked Bess. "Yes, and it isn't as bad as we feared. Jack over-trained, trying for a new position on the football eleven, and that, with some extra studies he undertook, reduced his already tingling nerves to a condition where he was not at all himself." "A long rest and a change will set him up again in fine style," Walter wrote. "There is no need worrying, Cora," for he had written to her, rather than to Mrs. Kimball, relying on Cora's discretion to explain matters. "I am bringing Jack home, and we'll come on the early afternoon train, Thursday. There is no great need of haste." It was now Thursday, just after lunch, and the girls were waiting at Cora's house to go down with her, or, rather one of them (to be decided later) to meet Jack and Walter. There was no need of a physician to help Jack home, though Dr. Blake promised his services when the sufferer should have been safely quartered in his own room. "Isn't it good of Wally to come home with him?" ventured Belle, thoughtfully gazing at her long, thin hands, that were still tanned by the summer's sun. "Perfectly fine!" exclaimed Cora. "Oh, you can always depend on Wally," and her eyes lightened up. "So you can, too, on Jack, for that matter," voiced Bess, warmly. Bess was, of late, generally regarded as having more than a mere chum's sisterly feeling for Jack. "I suppose he'll lose a term," remarked Belle. "Too bad, I say." "Better that than lose your health," declared Cora, as she put back a strand of hair that would persist in straying out from under her cap, for she, as well as the others, were attired for motoring, the Robinson twins, in fact, having come over in their car. "Oh, Cora! I think you look so different with your hair in that new close formation!" declared Bess. "I wish I could get mine to lie down flat at the sides, and over my ears. How do you do it?" "Whisper--it's a secret," said Cora, smiling. "I found a new kind of hairpin when I was shopping the other day." "Oh, do show us!" begged Belle. "I was going to have the permanent wave put in mine, but it costs twenty-five dollars, and it's awfully tiring, Hazel said. Besides, I think it's getting rather--common." "Do show us, Cora!" begged Bess. "Come inside. I'm not going to turn the porch into a hair-dressing parlor for demonstrations," laughed Cora. "It won't take a minute to show you how to do I it, and we have plenty of time before Jack's train is due." Cora obligingly let down her pretty hair, and then, by means of the new hairpins, she put it up again, in the latest "flat" mode, which, with its rather severe lines, is far from becoming to the average face. But, as it happened, Cora's face was not the average, and the different style was distinctly becoming to her. "Oh, isn't it simple--when you're shown?" cried Bess. "I wonder if I'd have time to do mine that way before--?" "Before Wally sees you!" interrupted her sister. "No, and don't think it. He's probably seen plenty of that style at college, and--" "Thank you! I wasn't thinking of Mr. Pennington!" and Bess tried to tilt her chin up in the air with an assumption of dignity that ill sat upon her, the said chin being of the plump variety which lends itself but poorly to the said tilting. "Cora, are you there?" asked the voice of Mrs. Kimball from the porch. "Yes, Mother. I was just showing the girls the new hairpins. We are going to the station directly." Cora's voice floated out of the low French windows, which opened from the library to the porch, and they were swung wide, for the fall tang in the air had vanished with the rising of the orb of day, and it was now warm and balmy. "It will be even warmer than this when we go to the West Indies," murmured Bess. "Oh, Cora, I do wish you were going!" "So do I, dear! But I don't see how I can." "Hark!" said Belle, softly. A murmur of voices came from the porch through the low, opened windows. "It's one of those Armenian lace peddlers,"' said Cora, stooping down to look as she finished making the twist at the back of her head. "There's been a perfect swarm of them around lately. Mother is talking to her, though she seldom cares for lace--such as they sell." "There is some beautiful lace work to be had on some of the West Indian islands, so mamma says," spoke Belle. "I am just crazy to get there!" "Are you going to spend all your time on Porto Rico?" asked Cora, as she finished her hair. "Well, most of it, though we shall probably cruise about some," spoke Bess, and as she paused the murmuring of the voices of Mrs. Kimball and the lace peddler could be heard. "She doesn't talk like an Armenian," ventured Belle. "She has a Spanish accent." "Yes, so she has," agreed Cora. "Oh, girls! You don't know how I envy you that trip. But duty first, you know," and she sighed. "We expect to have a perfectly gorgeous time," went on Belle, as she settled her trim jacket more snugly over her slim hips. "One trip papa has promised us is to Sea Horse Island, not far from Porto Rico. He is going there after orchids--you know he is an enthusiastic amateur collector--and he says some very rare ones grow on Sea Horse. I wish I could send you some, Cora." "It's awfully sweet of you, but--" The girls were interrupted by the darkening of one of the low windows, by a tall, slim shadow. In surprise they looked up to see staring at them a girl whose swarthy, olive-tinted face proclaimed her for a foreigner from some sunny clime. In her hand she field a bundle of lace, which she had evidently taken from her valise to show to Mrs. Kimball. Cora's mother had arisen from a porch chair, in some wonder, to follow the girl's movements. "Pardon Senoritas," began the lace seller, in soft accents, "but did I hear one of you ladies mention Sea Horse Island--in ze West Indies? I am not sure--I--" She paused, painfully self-conscious. "I spoke of it," said Belle, gently. "We are going there on a winter cruise, and--" "Pardon me--but to Sea Horse Island?" and the girl's trembling voice seemed very eager. "We are going there--among other places," put in Bess, and her voice grew rather colder than her sister's, for the manner of the lace seller was passing strange. "--Oh, to Sea Horse Island--in ze West Indies--Oh, if I could but go zere--my father--he is--he is, oh, Senoritas, I crave your pardon, but---but--" Her voice trailed off in a whisper, and swaying, she fell at the feet of Cora, who sprang forward, but too late, to catch the slim, inanimate burden. The little lace peddler lay in a crumpled up heap on the floor. CHAPTER IV JACK ARRIVES "Oh, Cora!" "The poor girl!" Belle and Bess, with clasped hands, bent over the prostrate form of the girl, whose plain, black dress showed the dust and travel stains of the highways about Chelton. From the verandah Mrs. Kimball stepped in, through the long window. "Get some water, Cora," she directed in a calm and self-possessed voice. "Also the aromatic ammonia on my dressing table. It is merely a faint. Poor girl! She seemed very weak while she was talking to me. I was just going to ask her to sit down, and let me have a cup of tea brought to her, when she suddenly turned away from me and came in where you girls were." "She heard us talking," ventured Bess, a little awed by the strange happening. "And she asked the oddest question--about Sea Horse Island--where papa is going--and she spoke of her father--I wonder what she meant?" asked Belle. "Time enough to find out after we've revived her," suggested Cora, who, like her mother, was not at all alarmed by a mere fainting fit. Belle, inspired by her chum's coolness, had stooped over and was raising the girl's head. "Don't do that!" exclaimed Cora. "The trouble is all the blood has gone from her head now. Let it remain low and the circulation will become normal, after the has had a little stimulant. I'll get the ammonia," and she hurried off, stopping long enough to ring for her mother's maid. The foreign girl opened her dark brown eyes under the reviving stimulus of the aromatic spirits of ammonia, and she tried to speak. She seemed anxious to apologize for the trouble she had caused by fainting. "That's all right, my dear," said Mrs. Kimball, soothingly. "Don't bother your poor head about it. You may stay here until you feel better." "But, senora--" she protested, faintly. "Hush!" begged Cora, touching the girl's hand gently with her own brown fingers. It was a pretty little hand, that of the lace seller--a hand not at all roughened by heavy work. Indeed, if she had made some of the dainty lace she was exhibiting, a piece of which was even now entangled about her, she needs must keep both hands unroughened. "Oh, but Senorita, I--I am of ze ashamed to be so--to be--" Again her voice trailed off into that mere faintness, which was as weak as a whisper, yet unlike it. "Now, not another word!" insisted Mrs. Kimball, in the tone of her daughter, and the Robinson twins well knew she meant to have her own good way. "You are in our hands, my dear child, and until you are able to leave them, you must do as we say. A little more of that ammonia, Cora, and then have Janet bring in some warm bouillon--not too hot. I believe the poor child is just weak from hunger," she whispered over the head of the lace seller, whose brown eyes were now veiled with the olive lids. "Oh!" gasped Bess. "Hungry!" "Hush! She'll hear you," cautioned Belle, for somehow she sensed the proudness of those who, though they toil hard for their daily bread, yet have even greater pride than those who might, if they wished, eat from golden dishes--the pride of the poor who are ashamed to have it known that they hunger--and there is no more pitiful pride. The girl did not show signs of sensing anything of that which went on around her. Even when the second spoonful of ammonia had trickled through her trembling lips, she did not again open her eyes. "Here is the bouillon," said Janet, as she came in with some in a dainty cup, on a servette. "We must try to get her to take a little," said Mrs. Kimball, who had her arm under the girl's neck. A dusky flush in the olive cheeks told of the returning blood, under the whip of the biting ammonia. Some few sips of the hot broth the girl was able to take, but she did not show much life, and, after a close look at her immobile countenance, and feeling of the cold and listless hands, Cora's mother said: "I think we had better put her to bed, and have Dr. Blake look at her when he comes for Jack." "Oh, Jack! I had almost forgotten about him!" exclaimed Cora. "We must go to the depot. It is almost time for his train." "You have time enough to help me," said her mother, gently. "I think we must look after her, Cora, at least--" "Oh, of course, Mother. We can't send her to the hospital, especially when she seems so refined. She is really--clean!" and Cora said the word with a true delight in its meaning. She had seen so many itinerant hawkers of lace who were not and neither were their wares. "Oh, she has such a sweet, sweet face," murmured Belle, who was fair, and who had always longed to be dark. "Is there a bed ready," Janet asked Mrs. Kimball. "Yes, Madam, in the blue room." The Kimball family had a habit of distinguishing chambers by the color of the wall papers. "That will do. We'll take her there. I think a little rest and food is all she needs. She looks as though she had walked far to-day." A glance at the worn and dusty shoes confirmed this. "Can we carry her, or shall I call John?" asked Cora, referring to the one man of all work, who kept the Kimball place in order. "Oh, I think we can manage," said her mother. "She is not heavy." It was not until Cora and her mother lifted the girl, that they realized what a frail burden she was in their arms. "She's only a girl, yet she has the face of a woman, and with traces of a woman's troubles," whispered Belle, as Cora and Mrs. Kimball, preceded by Janet to hold aside the draperies, left the room. "Yes. And I wonder what she meant by speaking of her father and Sea Horse Island in the way she did?" spoke Bess. "It sounds almost like a mystery!" "Oh, you and your mysteries!" scoffed Belle. "You'd scent one, if an Italian organ grinder stopped in front of the house, looked up at your window, and played the Miserere." "I might give him something to eat, anyhow," snapped Bess--that is, as nearly as Bess ever came to snapping, for she was so well "padded," both in mariners and by nature, that she was too much like a mental sofa cushion to hurt even the feelings of any one. Cora came down presently, announcing: "She is better now. She took a little of the bouillon, but she is very weak. Mother insists on her staying in bed. She really seems a very decent sort of a person--the girl, I mean," added Cora quickly, with a little laugh. "She was so afraid of giving trouble." "Did she tell anything of herself?" asked Bess. "She tried to, but mother would not hear of it until she is stronger. I really think the poor thing was starving. She can't make much of a living selling lace, though some of it is very beautiful," and Cora picked up from the library door the length that had dropped from the girl's hand. "Wasn't it strange--that she should come in and seem so worked-up over the mention of Sea Horse Island?" spoke Belle. "It was," admitted Cora. "We shall have to find out about it later--she was on the verge of telling us, when she fainted. But, girls, if I am to go get Jack, it's time I started. Are you coming?" "Suppose we go in our car," suggested Bess. "You may want all the room you have to spare in yours, Cora, to bring back some of his luggage. And perhaps some of the boys besides Walter may come on from Exmouth with Jack. In that case--"' "Exactly!" laughed Cora. "And if they do you want to be in a position to offer them your hospitality. Oh, Bess! And I thought you would be true to Jack; especially when he is so ill!" "Cora Kimball! I'll--" but Bess, her face flaming scarlet, found no words to express her, at least pretended, indignation. "Come on, Belle," she cried. "We won't let a boy or young man ride in our car, not even if they beg us!" "Oh, I didn't mean anything!" said Cora, contritely. But Bess simulated indignation. The throb of motors soon told that the three girls were on their way. Cora in her powerful car, and the twins in their new one, both heading for the railroad station, though the train was not due yet for nearly half an hour, and the run would not take more than ten minutes. "I wonder if Walter will stay on for a few days?" asked Belle of Bess, who was steering. "I should think so--yes. He'll probably want to see how Jack stands the trip. Poor Jack!" "Isn't it too bad?" "Yes, and that reminds me. I wonder if he couldn't--" "Look out, for that dog!" fairly screamed Bess, as one rushed barking from a house yard. It was only instinctive screaming on the part of Bess, for it was she herself who "looked-out," to the extent of steering to one side, and so sharply that Belle gasped. And, even at that, the dog was struck a glancing blow by the wheel and with barks changed to yelps of pain, ran, retreating into the yard whence he had come, limping on three feet. "Serves him right--for trying to bite a hole in our tires," murmured Bess, with a show of indignation. A slatternly woman, who had come to the door of the tumble-down house at the sound of the dog's yelps, poured out a volume of vituperation at the girls, most of it, fortunately, being lost in the chugging of the motor. Three or four other curs came out from various hiding places to commiserate with their fellow, and the girls left behind them a weird canine chorus. "Curious, isn't it?" observed Belle, "that the poorer the people seem, the more dogs they keep." "What were we talking of?" "Perhaps misery loves company," quoted Bess. "Jack?" suggested her sister. "No, Walter," corrected the other, and they laughed. "What's the joke?" asked Cora, who had slowed up her car to await the on-coming of her chums. "Did you try to see how near you could miss a dog?" "Something like that, yes," answered Bess, as she related the occurrence. There was a period of rather tedious waiting at the station, before a whistle was heard, announcing the approach of some train. "There it is!" cried Cora, as she jumped from her car to go to the platform. It was only a freight engine, and the girls were disappointed. But, a few minutes later, the express sounded its blast, and, amid a whirl of dust, and a nerve-racking screech of brakes, drew into the depot. "There's Jack!" cried Bess, grasping Cora's shoulder, and directing her gaze to a certain Pullman platform. "And Walter's right behind him!" added Belle. "Why, he isn't carrying Jack!" "You goose! Jack isn't as ill as all that!" laughed Cora, a bit hysterically. "Oh, Jack!" she called, waving her handkerchief. "And there's Harry Ward!" murmured Belle. "I didn't know he was coming, and, instinctively, her hands went to her hair. For Harry, whom Belle had met during the summer, had paid rather marked attention to her--marked even for a summer acquaintance. "Hello, Sis!" greeted Jack, as he came slowly forward--and in his very slowness Cora read the story of his illness, slight though it was. "It was awfully good of you to come down," he added, as he brushed her cheek in a strictly brotherly kiss. "My! Look at the welcoming delegation!" scoffed Walter. "I say, fellows, are there any cinders on my necktie?" and he pretended to be very much exercised. "Oh, it's a sight!" mocked Belle. "Isn't it, girls? How are you, Jack?" she asked, more warmly, as she shook hands. "Oh! Don't you dare--not on this platform!" she cried, as Jack leaned forward, with the evident intention of repeating his oscillatory greeting to Cora. "All right. Come on around back, I'd just as soon," offered Jack, with something of his old, joking manner. "They can't see us there." "I guess you know Harry--all of you--don't you?" put in Walter. "Oh, yes, forgetting my manners, as usual," laughed Jack, but there was little of mirth in the sound. "Harry, the girls--the girls--Harry. Pleased to meet you--and all that. Come on, Cora. I guess I'm--tired." His eyes showed it. Poor Jack was not at all himself. "But how did it happen--what's the matter?" asked Cora. "Were you suddenly stricken?" "About like that--yes," admitted Jack. "Trying to do too much, the doc said. I oughtn't to have made an effort for the double literature. Thought I'd save a term on it. But that, and training too hard, did me up. It's a shame, too, for we have a peach of an eleven!" "I know, Jack, it is too bad," said Cora, sympathetically. "Oh, it isn't that I'm actually a non-combatant, Sis, but I've lost my nerve, and what I have left is frayed to a frazzle. I've just got to do nothing but look handsome for the next three months." "It's a good time to look that way," ventured Bess. "Look how?" asked Jack. "Handsome. Tell me about the pretty stranger, Cora." "What's that?" cried Walter, crowding up. "Handsome stranger? Remember, boys, I saw her first!" "She means the lace seller," said Belle, languidly. "Tell you later," Cora promised. CHAPTER V INEZ They were at the autos, standing near the edge of the depot platform now. The porter had set down the grips of the boys, and had departed with that touching of the cap, and the expansive smile, which betokens a fifty-cent tip. They do not touch the cap for a quarter any more. "How'll we piece out?" asked Jack, and his tone was listless. "Who goes with whom?" His voice was so different from his usual joking, teasing, snapping tones that Cora looked at him again. Yes, her brother was certainly ill, though outwardly it showed only in a thinness of the bronzed cheeks, and a dull, sunken look in the eyes. A desperately tired look, which comes only from mental weariness. "You'd better ride with me, Jack," his sister said. "The car has more room." "Walter can come with us," suggested Jack. "I've been sort of leaning on him in the train, and it eases me. So if--" "Of course!" interrupted Cora quickly, and Walter, hearing his name spoken, came hurrying up, from where he had stood joking and talking with the Robinson twins at their car. "On the job, Jack, old man!" he exclaimed. "Want me to hold your hand some more?" "Wrenched my side a little at football," Jack explained to his sister. "It sort of eases it to lean against some one. The porter wanted to get me a pillow, but I'm not an old lady yet--not with Wally around." "Harry, think you'll be safe with two of them?" asked Walter, as he nodded at Bess and Belle. "Oh, sure," he answered with a laugh. "If they promise not to rock the boat." "Perhaps he thinks we can't drive?" suggested Belle, mockingly. "Far be it from me to so assume!" said Harry, bowing with his hand on his right side, and then quickly transferring it, after the manner of some stage comedian. "I'd go anywhere with you!" he affirmed. "Don't be rash!" called Jack, who had taken his place in the tonneau of Cora's car. "Come on, Walter. Leave him to his own destruction. But, I say, Cora, what's this about some new girl? Has a pretty arrival struck town? If there has, I'm glad I came home." "It's just a poor Armenian lace peddler, who fainted from lack of food as she was talking to mother," Cora explained. "She isn't Armenian--she's Spanish, I'm sure of it," declared Belle, for the cars had not yet started. "Well, Spanish then," admitted Cora. "And she's so pretty!" put in Bess. "Pretty! I suppose you'll be at home this evening, Jack, old chap?" asked Walter, pretending to straighten his tie, and arrange his hair. "Is her name Carmencita or Marita?" he asked. "We don't know, yet," Cora informed him. "The poor child wasn't able to tell us much about herself." "Child!" exclaimed Jack. "Oh, then she's a little girl! The Mater always was great on infant classes." "Wait until you see," advised Belle, loftily. "You make me very curious!" mocked the invalided young man. "Drive on, Cora, and let's get the suspense over with." Walter slipped in beside his chum, and put his arm about Jack's waist, for the wrench given Jack's side in a football scrimmage was far from healed, and often pained him severely. It was this direct cause, as much as anything else, that had pulled him down. On the way to the Kimball home, Cora driving slowly and with careful regard for Jack's weakness, the sufferer told how he had "keeled over" in a faint, while playing the last half of a hard game, and how the team physician had insisted on his being sent home. "And the boys very kindly offered to come with me," ended Jack. "It's very good of them to spare the time," said Cora, with a decidedly grateful look at Walter. "As if we wouldn't!" he said, half indignantly. And so the cars rolled on until they turned in at the gateway of the Kimball home. "Is she any better, Mother?" asked Cora, when Jack's mother had kissed him, and held him off at arms' length to get a better look at him. "Who, Cora? Oh, Inez Ralcanto? Yes, she is much better. A good meal was her most pressing need." "Inez!" murmured Jack. "Charming name. Lead me to Inez!" "Jack!" cried Cora, in shocked accents. His mother only smiled. It sounded like the Jack of old, and she was hopefully feeling that he was not as ill as she had been led to fear. "Did she say anything about herself?" asked Bess, who with Belle and Harry had now come in. "Yes, she told me her story, and I think she is anxious to repeat it to you girls," said Mrs. Kimball, looking at the Robinson twins. "Us?"' cried Belle. "Why us in particular?" "I don't know, but she said one of you had mentioned something about a West Indian Island--" "Sea Horse," explained Bess, in a low voice. "That's it--such an odd name," went on Mrs. Kimball. "And she is anxious to know more about your plan of going there. I could not tell her--having heard only the vaguest rumors about your trip, my dears." "Yes, we are going there--or, at least, father expects to get some orchids there when we are in the West Indies," explained Bess. "But we really know nothing about the island." "There seems to be some sort of mystery," put in Belle. "Just before she fainted, she spoke of her father. Is her name Inez, Mrs. Kimball?" "Yes, Inez Ralcanto. She is a Spaniard. But I had rather let her tell you herself, as she is anxious to do. As soon as yow are rested--" "Oh, we're not tired!" interrupted Walter. "That is, unless Jack feels--" "Oh, never too tired to listen to a pretty girl--especially when she is called Inez," broke in the invalided hero. "Still, perhaps Sis and the twins had better have a first whack at her. I fancy we fellows would look better with some of the car grime removed," and he sank rather wearily into a chair. "You poor boy! You are tired!" expostulated his mother, as she put her arms about him. "You had better go to your room, and lie down. We'll have a light dinner served soon. You'll stay, of course," and she included the Robinson twins as well as Walter and Harry in her invitation. "Oh, I don't know," spoke Harry, diffidently. He had not known the "Cheerful Chelton Crowd" as long as had Walter. "Perhaps I'd better put up at the hotel--" "You'll do nothing of the sort!" broke in Jack. "You and Wally will bunk in here. You forget Inez is due to give a rehearsal of the 'Prisoner of Sea Horse Island,' and you want to be here." "Don't joke, Jack! This may be serious," said Cora, in a low voice. "Don't worry, Sis! I feel very far from joking," and Jack put his hand to his head with a weary gesture. "You must go and lie down," his mother said. "Dr. Blake is coming, and wants to see you. I am also going to have him for Inez. Cora, if you'll show Walter and Mr. Ward--"' "Please call me Harry!" he pleaded. "Harry then," and she smiled. "Show them to their rooms--you know, the ones next to Jack's room. Then you girls can come up and see our little stranger." Cora, with her brother and his guests, went up stairs, but soon came down, her face flaming. "What's the matter?" asked Belle. "Oh, Jack! I don't believe he's ill at all!" she stormed. "It's only an excuse to escape college." "What did he do?" asked Bess, slyly. "Said Walter and Harry might--kiss me!" and Cora's face flushed. "And--er--did they?" asked Belle. "Belle Robinson! If you--well!" and Cora closed her lips in a firm line. Her mother smiled. "Perhaps we had better go up and see Inez," suggested Mrs. Kimball. "Yes, do!" urged Cora, eager to change the subject. The lace seller was sitting up in bed, and the white lounging gown that had been put on her, in exchange for her simple black dress, made her seem the real Spaniard, with her deep, olive complexion. She smiled at the sight of the girls. "Pardon, Senoritas!" she murmured, as Cora and her chums entered the room. "I am so sorry that I give you ze trouble. It is too bad--I am confused at my poor weakness. But I--I--" "You needn't apologize one bit!" burst out Cora, generously. "I'm sure you need the rest." "Yes, Senorita, I was weary--so very weary. It is good--to rest." "I think you had better have a little more broth," suggested Mrs. Kimball. "Then Dr. Blake will be here, and can say whether it would be wise to give you something more solid. You must have been quite hungry," she added, gently. "I--I was, Senora--very hungry," and taking the hand of Mrs. Kimball in her own thin, brown one, the girl imprinted a warm kiss on it. "Do you feel well enough to talk?" asked Cora. "These are my friends. They expect to go to Sea Horse Island soon. You mentioned that, just before you fainted, and--" "Yes, Senorita, I did. Oh! if I could find someone to take me zere--I would do anyzing! I would serve zem all, my life--I would work my fingers to ze bare bones--I would--" A flood of emotion seemed to choke her words. "We'll help you all we can," interrupted Cora. "Why are you so anxious to go there?" "Because my father--my dear father--he is prisoner zere, and if I go zere, I can free him!" and the girl clasped her hands in an appealing gesture. CHAPTER VI THE MYSTERIOUS MAN For a moment Cora and the Robinson twins looked alternately at one another, and then at the figure of the frail girl on the bed. She seemed to be weeping, but when she took her hands down from her eyes, there was no trace of tears in them--only a wild, and rather haunting look in her face. "Is she--do you think she is raving--a little out of her mind?" whispered Belle. "Hush!" cautioned Cora, but Inez did not seem to have heard. "I pray your pardon--I should not inflict my emotions on you thus," the lace seller said, with a pretty foreign accent. Only now and then did she mispronounce words--occasionally those with the hard (to her) "th" sound. "We shall be only too glad to help you," said Cora, gently. "I do not know zat you can help me, Senorita," the girl murmured, "and yet I need help--so much." She was silent a moment, as though trying to think of the most simple manner in which to tell her story. "You said your father was a--a prisoner," hesitated Bess, gently. "Did he--" "He did nozing, Senorita!" burst out the girl. "He was thrown into a vile prison for what you call 'politics.' Yet in our country politics are not what zey are here--so open, with all ze papairs printing so much about zem. Spanish politics are more in ze dark--what you call under the hand." She seemed uncertain whether she had used the right word. "Underhanded--yes," encouraged Cora, with a smile. "He had enemies," proceeded the girl. "Oh, zose politic--zose intrigues--I know nozzing of zem--but zey are terrible!" She spread her hands before her face with a natural, tragic gesture. "But I must not tire you, Senoritas," she resumed. "My father, he was arrested on ze political charges. We lived on Sea Horse Island-L, it is a Spanish possession of ze West Indies. We were happy zere (it is one grand, beautiful place). Ze waters of ze bay are so blue--so blue--ah!" She seemed lost in a flood of happy memories, and then, as swiftly, she apologized for giving away to her feelings. "I should not tire you," she said. "Oh, but we just love to hear about it," said Belle, eagerly. "We are going there--to waters blue--" "That I might go wiz you--but no, it is impossible!" the lace seller sighed. "Tell us your story--perhaps we can help you," suggested Cora. "I will make for you as little weariness as I can, Senoritas; and, believe me, I am truly grateful to you," she said. "I do not even dare dream zat I could go to my father," sighed Inez, "but perhaps you will be of so great kindness as to take him a message from me. I cannot mail it--he is not allowed to receive letters zat are not read, and we have no secret cipher we might use." "If we can get a letter to him, rest assured we shall do so," promised Belle, though her sister rather raised her eyebrows at the rashness of the pledge. "I cannot go into all ze details of ze politics, for I know zem not," went on the Spaniard. "All I painfully know is zat my father was thrown into prison, and our family and home broken up. My mother and I came to New York--to relatives, but alas! my poor mother died. I was left alone. I was desolate. "I had learned to make lace, and my friends thought I could sell it, so I began to make zat my trade. I thought I could save enough to go back to my father, and the beloved island--perhaps to free him." "How did you hope to do that?" asked Cora. "Because, in New York, I found one of his political party--himself an exile, who gave me what you call documents--I know not ze term--" "Evidence?" suggested Belle. "Zat is it. Evidence! I have evidence, zat would free my father, if I could get it to him. But I fear to send it by mail, for it would be taken--captured by his enemies." "It's rather complicated--isn't it?" suggested Cora. "Yes, Senorita--more so even zan I am telling you. Of myself I know but little, save zat if I can get ze certain papairs to my father, he might go free. But how am I to go to Sea Horse Island, when I have not even money to buy me food to keep from starving? I ask you--how can I? And yet I should not trouble you wiz my troubles, Senoritas." "Oh, but we want to help you!" declared Cora, warmly. "Surely," added Belle. "Perhaps I had better speak to my father. He may know of someone on Sea Horse Island, where he is going to gather orchids." "No, no, Senorita! If you please--not to speak yet!" broke in the Spanish girl suddenly. "It must be a secret--yet. I have enemies even here." "Enemies?" echoed Cora. "Yes. Zey followed me from New York. Listen, I haf not yet tell you all. I make ze lace in New York, but it so big a city--and so many lace sellers--not of my country. It is hard for me to make even a pittance. Some of my friends, zey say to go out in ze country. So I go. But I weary you--yes?" and with a quick, bird-like glance she asked the question. "Oh, no, indeed!" answered Cora. Then the girl told of traveling out of New York City, into the surrounding towns, plying her humble calling. She made a bare living, that was all, dwelling in the cheapest places, and subsisting on the coarsest food in order to save her money for her father's cause. Then came a sad day when she was robbed--in one of her, stopping places, of her little horde. She told of it with tears in her eyes. "The poor girl!" murmured Bess, with an instinctive movement toward her pretty, silver purse. Inez Ralcanto, for such she said was her name, her father being Senor Rafael Ralcanto, was heartbroken and well nigh discouraged at her loss. But to live she must continue, and so she did. She made barely enough to live on, by selling her laces, and since reaching Chelton the day-before, she had not sold a penny's worth. Her money was exhausted, and she was nearly on the verge of fainting when she applied at the Kimball home. Cora's mother had seemed interested in the lace, which really was beautifully worked, and while showing it on the porch, the girl had overheard the mention of her home island. The rest is known to the reader. "And so I am so silly as to faint!" said Inez, with a little tinkling laugh. "But I faint in good hands--I am so grateful to you!" she went on, warmly, her olive checks flushing. "And you want to go to Sea Horse Island?" asked Belle. "I want--Oh! so much, Senorita. But I know it is a vain hope. But you are good and kind. If you could take zese papairs wiz you--and manage to get zem to my father--he could tell you how to help him. For it is all politics--he had committed no--what you call crime--not a soul has he wronged. Oh, my poor father!" "And these papers?" asked Cora. "'What are they?" "I know not, Senorita. I am not versed in such zings. A fellow patriot of my father gave them to me." "Have you them with you?" asked Bess. The girl started up in bed, and clutched at her breast. A wild look came over her face. "I had zem in New York--I bring zem away wiz me. Zat man--he is ze enemy of my father and his party. He know I have zem, and he try to entrap me. But I am too--what you call foxy, for him! I slip through his fingernails. Ze papairs--in my valise--Oh, where is it? I--when I faint--I have it at my feet--" "It was on the porch!" exclaimed Mrs. Kimball. "I forgot all about it in the excitement. It was full of lace--Oh, if some one has taken it!" "And my papairs--zat could free my father!" cried the girl. A shout came from the front of the house. "That's Walter's voice!" exclaimed Cora, starting up. "Here, drop that satchel!" came the call. The girls swept to the window in time to see a small man running down the drive, closely pursued by Walter Pennington. And, as the man fled, he dropped a valise from which trailed a length of lace. The girl, Inez, caught a reflection of the scene in a mirror of the bedroom. "Zat is him--ze mysterious man!" she cried. "Oh, if he has taken my papairs!" and she seemed about to leap from the bed. CHAPTER VII NEW PLANS "You mustn't do that!" cried Cora. "Hold her, girls!" "But ze man--my papairs!" fairly screamed the Spanish visitor. "He has nothing--Walter is after him--he doesn't seem to have taken anything," said Belle, soothingly, as Mrs. Kimball pressed back on the pillow the frail form of the eager girl. Inez struggled for a moment, and then lay quiet. But she murmured, over and over again: "Oh, if he has--if he has--my father--he may never see ze outside of ze prison again!" "We will help you," said Cora's mother, softly. "If there has been a robbery, the authorities shall be notified. I will have one of the girls inquire. You say Walter is down there, Belle?" "Yes, and a man is running off down the road. I'll go see what it all means." "I wish you would, please." The eager gaze of Inez followed Belle as she left the room. The little excitement had proved rather good, than otherwise, for the patient, for there was a glow and flush to her dusky cheeks and her eyes had lost that dull, hopeless look of combined hunger and fear. Quiet now reigned in the little chamber where the lace seller had been given such a haven of rest. "What's it all about, Wally?" asked Belle, as she encountered the chum of Cora's brother, who was coming up the side steps bearing a black valise, from which streamed lengths of lace. "Some enterprising beggar tried to make off with this valise," he said. "I had come down from Jack's room, and was sitting in the library, when I saw him sneak up on the porch, and try to get away with it. He dropped it like a hot potato when I sang out to him. But whose is it? Doesn't look like the one Cora uses when she goes off for a week-end, that is, unless you girls have taken to wearing more lace on your dresses than you used to." "It belongs to the lace seller--Inez--you know, the one we spoke of," said Belle. "She's here--in a sort of collapse from hunger. And she has told the strangest story--all about a political crime--her father in prison--secret papers and a mysterious man after them." "Good!" cried Waker, with a short laugh. "I seem to have fitted in just right to foil the villain in getting the papers. Say, better not let Jack know about this, or he'll be on the job, too, and what he needs just now is a rest--eh, Harry?" "That's it," agreed the other college youth, whom Belle had not noticed since coming down stairs in such haste. "Wally robbed me of the honors," complained Harry. "I was just going to make after the fellow." "And was he really going to steal the papers?" asked Belle. "I don't know as to that," Walter answered. "I don't know anything about any papers. But Harry and I were sitting here, after seeing that Jack was comfortable in his room, waiting for the doctor, when I heard someone come up the steps. At first I thought it was Dr. Blake himself but when the footsteps became softer, and more stealthy, as the novels have it, I took a quiet observation. "Then I saw this Italian-looking chap reaching for the valise. I let out a yell, went after him and he dropped it. Ahem! Nothing like having a first-class hero in the family!" and Walter swelled out his chest, and looked important. "Better find out, first, whether you saved the papers, or just the empty valise," suggested Harry, with a smile. "Such things have been known to happen, you know." "That's right!" admitted Walter. "Guess I had better look," and he was proceeding to open a valise when Belle hastily took it from him. "You mustn't!" she exclaimed. "It isn't ours, and poor little Inez may not like it. Leave it up to her and she can tell if anything is missing." "Just tell that I saved it for her--I, Walter Pennington!" begged the owner of that name. "Nothing like making a good impression, from the start, on the pretty stranger," he added. "Eh?" "Just my luck!" murmured Harry, with a tragic air. "Oh, you silly boys!" laughed Belle. She hastened up the stairs to the room where Inez as resting, the lace trailing from the half-opened valise. "Oh, you have it back--my satchel!" gasped a Spanish girl. "Oh, if ze papairs are only safe!" They were, evidently, for she gave utterance a sigh of relief when she drew a bundle of crackling documents from a side pocket of the valise, under a pile of filmy lace, at the sight of which Cora and the girls uttered exclamations of delight. Inez heard them. "Take it--take it all!" she begged of them, thrusting into Mrs. Kimball's hands a mass of the beautiful cob-webby stuff. "It is all yours, and too little for what you have done for me!" "Nonsense!" exclaimed Cora's mother. "This lace is beautiful. I shall be glad to purchase some of it, and pay you well for it--I can't get that kind in the stores. You didn't show me this at first." "No, Senora, I was too tired. But it is all yours. I care not for it, now zat I have ze papairs safe. Zey are for my father!" "Do you really think some man was trying to get them?" asked Cora. "Oh, yes, Senorita," was the serious answer. "There was a man up on the stoop--he had the valise, Walter said," put in Belle. "He dropped it and ran." "Who could he be?" asked Cora. "An enemy!" fairly hissed the Spanish girl, with something of dramatic intensity. "I tried to keep secret ze fact zat I was working for my father's release. I will not tire you wiz telling you all, but some enemies know I have papairs zat prove ze innocence of Senor Ralcanto. Zis man--Pedro Valdez he call himself--has been trying to get zem from me. He tried in New York, and he said he would give me no rest until he had zem. He must have been following me--no hard task since I have traveled a slow and weary way. Zen, when he saw my valise--he must have thought it his chance." "How dreadful!" murmured Bess. "To think that such things could happen in Chelton!" "And perhaps we are not at the end of them yet," said Cora, softly. "The man got away, didn't he, Belle?" "So Walter said. Oh, dear! I'm glad we're going to the West Indies!" "Oh, zat I were going wiz you!" exclaimed Inez, clasping her thin, brown hands in an appealing gesture. "But if you will take zese papairs, Senorita, and help to free my father--I will never be able to repay your great kindness." "We shall have to ask papa about it," said Bess, cautiously. "Would you like to have him come and talk to you--he would understand about the political side of it so much better than we would." "I would gladly welcome ze senor," said Inez, with a graceful dignity. "I shall be honored if he come." "I think he'll be glad to," spoke Belle. "He loves anything about, politics--he's a reformer, you know." "And so was my father--he belong to ze reform party--but the others--zey of ze old regime--zey like not reform in Sea Horse Island," chattered Inez. "Zey lose too much money zereby. So my father he is in prison, and I am here!" she finished, softly. "Well, it's all dreadfully mixed up," sighed Cora, "and I believe it will take your father, Belle, to straighten out some of the tangle. Meanwhile, I suppose I'd better put these papers in the safe," for Inez had thrust them into Cora's rather unwilling hands. "Keep zem safe, if you can Senora," pleaded the girl. "Zat--zat villain, if I must call him such--zat Valdez may come back for zem." Mrs. Kimball started. "Don't worry, mother," said Cora. "Jack is home now, to say nothing of Walter and Harry." "Oh, my poor boy!" exclaimed his mother. "I must go to him. Dr. Blake ought to be here." "There comes his car now," volunteered Belle. "I know the sound." Several events, of no particular importance now followed each other in rapid succession. It was Dr. Blake who had arrived, and he was soon subjecting Jack to a searching medical examination, with the result of which, only, we need concern ourselves. Cora, slipping the bundle of papers the Spanish girl had given her into the house safe, begged Walter to keep a sharp lookout for the possible return of the mysterious man, and then she went back to stay with Inez until Dr. Blake should be able to see the foreign visitor. Harry and Walter talked in the library, and Bess and Belle--after a brief chat with the other boys, went home to tell their folks the news, and consult Mr. Robinson about the Spanish prisoner. "Rest--rest and a change of scene--a complete change is all he needs," had been Dr. Blake's verdict regarding Jack. "If he could go south for the winter, it would be the making of him. He'll come back in the spring a new lad. But a rest and change he must have. His nerves demand it!" "And we shall see that he gets it," said Mrs. Kimball. "Now about that girl, Doctor." "Nothing the matter with her--just starved, that's all. The easiest prescription to write in the world. Feed her. You've already got a good start on it. Keep it up." "Of course you can't advise us about her father, and the story she tells." "No. She seems sincere, though. As you say, Mr. Robinson, with his business connections, will be the best one at that end of it." "Poor girl," murmured Cora. "I do hope we can help her." "She has been helped already," the physician informed her. "And, if I am any judge by the past activities of the motor girls, she is in for a great deal more of help in the future," and he laughed and pinched Cora's tanned check. "Will you need to see Jack again?" asked his mother. "Not until just before he goes away. The less medicine he takes the better, though I'll leave a simple bromide mixture for those shrieking nerves of his--they will cry out once in a while--the ends are all bare--they need padding with new thoughts. Get him away as soon as you can." It was a new problem for the Kimball family to solve, but they were equal to it. Fortunately, money matters did not stand in the road, and since Jack was not to keep up his studies, and since Cora had "finished," there were no ties of location to hinder. "I guess we'll all have to go away," sighed Mrs. Kimball. "I had rather counted on a quiet winter in Chelton, but of course now we can't have it." "Perhaps it will be all for the best," suggested Cora. "If Bess and Belle are going away, I won't have any fun here alone." A little silence followed this remark. The Robinson twins, who had just come back for an evening call, sat looking at each other. Between them they seemed to hide some secret. "You tell her, Bess," suggested Belle. "You, you, dear!" "Is there anything?" asked Cora, smiling at her chums. "Oh, dear, it's the best thing in the world--if you'll consent to it!" burst out Bess. "Listen! Papa and mamma want you to come with us, Cora--to the West Indies. They'd love to have you and your mother." "We couldn't leave Jack!" said Cora, softly. "Bring him along!" invited Belle. "It would be just the thing for him--wouldn't it, Dr. Blake?" "The West Indies? Yes, I should say there couldn't be a better place." "Oh!" gasped Cora. "Do say yes, Mrs. Kimball!" pleaded Belle. "What about poor little Inez?" questioned Cora. "Did you tell your father, Bess?" "Yes, and he seems to think there may be something in it. He is going to make inquiries. Oh, but let's settle this first. Will you come with us, Mrs. Kimball--Cora? And bring Jack! Oh, it would be just perfect to have you with us." "Could we go, Mother?" Cora pleaded. "Why, it is all so sudden--and yet there is no good reason why we shouldn't." "Good!" cried Walter. "I'm coming, too! I never could leave old Jack! Ho, for the West Indies!" CHAPTER VIII THE DREAM OF INEZ "Oh, Walter, are you really going?" "Do you mean it?" "Are you joking?" Thus Belle, Bess and Cora questioned Jack's chum, who stood in the center of the library, one hand thrust between two buttons of his coat, and the other raised above his head like some political orator of the old school. "Mean it? Of course I mean it!" he exclaimed, while Dr. Blake chuckled. "I need a rest and change. Anyone will tell you that--er my appetite is not what it once was." "No, it's on the increase," murmured Harry. "And as for nerves--" "Nerve, you mean," Harry went on. "You have more than your share." "There, you see!" declaimed Walter, triumphantly. "I simply need some change." "Better pay back what you borrowed of me to fee the Pullman porter," went on his tormentor. "Hush!" ordered Walter, imperiously. "I'll pay you--when I come back from the West Indies." "You seem to think it's all settled," laughed Cora. "It is, as far as I'm concerned," said Walter, coolly. "If I can't go any other way I'll go as a valet to Mr. Robinson, or courier to the rest of the family. I can speak the language--habe Espanola? Oh, you simply can't get along without me--especially as I'll pay my own fare. And, Jack'll need me, too. It's all settled." Mrs. Kimball looked at Dr. Blake. There was a serious and questioning look on her face. "What do you think, Doctor?" she asked. "Professionally, I should say it was an excellent chance," he replied. "It would do Jack a world of good, and, though neither you nor Cora seems to be in need of recuperation, I have no doubt you would enjoy the trip." "Then you simply must come!" cried Belle. "I'll 'phone papa at once." "Not quite so fast, my dear," said Mrs. Kimball, gently. "I must first see if Jack would like it." "He's sure to," declared Cora, who already had visions of palm-tufted coral islands, and deep blue waters. "Just tell him he's going," suggested Dr. Blake. "Patients, such as he, don't need much urging one way or the other. The trouble is they are too little inclined to resist." He took up his, hat, as a signal that he was going, and once more expressing his professional opinion that the change would be the best possible medicine for Jack, took his leave. "Let's go up and tell Jack now," suggested Cora, who, the more she thought of the new plan, more cordially welcomed it. "It might disturb his night's rest," objected her mother. "He has had a hard day, traveling and all that--" "He seemed very bright," put in Walter. "I think it would give him something good to think of. He's been brooding too much over having to quit the football eleven and his favorite studies." "Then tell him, by all means," assented Mrs. Kimball. "May we count on you, if we make up a party to go to the West Indies?" she asked of Harry. "I'm afraid not, thank you. I'd give anything to go, but I can't spare the time from college. Some other occasion, perhaps." As Walter had predicted, Jack took fire at once oh hearing the proposal. "It'll be great!" he declared. "I've always wanted to go. I wonder what sort of a boat we could get down there, Wally? It would be immense to go on a cruise, among those hundreds of islands." "Time enough to think of that when we get there, old man. Then you'd like to go?" "I sure would. Tell Mr. Robinson thanks--a hundred times." "I'll save some of them for to-morrow; it's getting late. Now turn over, and go to sleep." "Sleep! As if I could sleep with that news! Let's talk about it!" And they did--the girls coming up with Mrs. Kimball for a brief chat. Then the invalid was ordered to quiet down for the night. Walter, with Harry, who was to remain at the Kimball residence for a few days, went home with the Robinson twins in their car, Cora trailing along in her automobile to bring back the boys. The next day nothing was talked of but the prospective trip. Walter wired his people and received permission to absent himself from college, ostensibly to help look after Jack. As Harry had said, he could not go, but Mrs. Kimball and Cora fully made up their minds to make the journey with Jack, and close up the Chelton home for the winter months. "But what about Inez and her political problem?" asked Belle, when this much had been settled. "She doesn't want to stay and be, as she says, a burden on you any longer, poor little girl." "She's far from being a burden," spoke Cora. "Why, mother says the lace she sold us was the most wonderful bargain, even though we did give her more than she asked for it. And as for making pretty things, why she's a positive genius. My pretty lace handkerchief that was so badly torn, she mended beautifully. And she is so skillful with the needle! Mother says she never need go out peddling lace again. There are any number of shops that would be glad to have her as a worker." "It's so good she fell into your hands," murmured Bess. "But, as you say, what about her? Papa has looked over her papers, and he says there is really enough evidence in them to free Mr. Ralcanto. Papa even cabled to some business friends in San Juan, and they confirmed enough of Inez's story to make him believe it all. "Of course I don't understand--I never could make head nor tail of politics, but there seems to be a conspiracy to keep Mr. Ralcanto in jail, and treat him shamefully. Inez did accidentally find the evidence to free him, and her father's enemies tried to get it away from her." "Then that man whom Walter saw," began Cora, "was--" "He might have been after the papers," interrupted Bess, "and again, he might have been only a tramp, hoping to get a valise full of lace. At any rate, he hasn't been around again."' "Mother told our man John to be on the watch for him," said Cora. "And now lets consider what we are going to do. What shall I need to take in the way of clothes?" "Only your very lightest, my dear," suggested Belle. "Of course the trip down on the steamer will be cool--at least the first day or so. Well start in about two weeks. That will bring us to Porto Rica about, the beginning of the dry season--the most delightful time." "And is your father really going to try to have the Spanish prisoner released?" asked Cora. "He says he is, my dear. And when papa makes up his mind to do a thing, it is generally done," said Bess. "Besides, he has learned that Mr. Ralcanto did some political favors for friends of papa's. That is before the poor man was put in prison. Which brings us back to Inez--what about her, Cora?" "I have just thought of something," murmured Jack's sister. "As I said, she has several times suggested going, now she is practically assured that something will be attempted for her father. But I was just wondering why we couldn't take her with us?" "Of course!" cried Belle. "Mamma was going to take Janet for a maid," Cora resumed, "but Janet isn't very keen on going. I fancy she thinks the West Indian Islands are inhabited by cannibals." "The idea!" laughed Bess. "Well, I found her reading some books on African travel," Cora went on, "and she asked me if the climate wasn't about the same. She seems to think all hot countries are the homes of cannibals. So I imagine Janet will refuse to go--at the last moment." "Would Inez go, as a maid?" asked Belle. "I fancy so. She says she has done so before, since the change in her fortunes. And mother and I like her very much. Besides, she speaks Spanish, and that would be a great help." "Why, Walter said--" began Bess, wonderingly. "He knows just two words of Spanish, and he speaks them as though he were a German comedian," declared Cora. "Wally is all right otherwise, but as a translator of the Castilian tongue, I wouldn't trust him to ask what time it was," she laughed. "But Inez would be such a help." "Then why don't you take her?" asked Bess. And, when it had been talked over with Mrs. Kimball, it was practically decided upon. "Lets go tell Inez," proposed Belle, "when the decision had been reached. It will be such a surprise to her." The Spanish girl, though not fully recovered from the long period of insufficient food and weary toil, had insisted upon taking up some of the duties, of the Kimball home. But Cora's mother required that she rest a portion of each day to recover her strength. And, as the girls sought her in her own little room (for Inez was anything but a servant), they found her just awakening from a sleep. "Oh, Senoritas!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed under their olive tint. "I have had such a beautiful dream. I dreamed I was back in my own dear country--on Sea Horse Island. Oh, but ze palms waved a welcome to me, and ze waters--ze so blue waters--zey sang a song to me. Ze blue waves broke on ze coral--as I have seen it so, often. Oh, but, Senoritas, I was sorry to awaken--so sorry--for it was but a dream." "No, Inez, it was not all a dream," said Cora, gently. "If you like, you may go back to Sea Horse Island. We will take you to Porto Rico with us, and from there you can easily go to your own island." "Oh, will you--will you take me, Senoritas?" cried Inez, kneeling at Cora's feet. "Oh, but it is magnificent of you!" and she covered Cora's hands with kisses. CHAPTER IX OFF TO WATERS BLUE "Oh, Jack! Aren't you just wild to go?" "I don't know, Cora. Anything for a change, I suppose," was the listless answer. "I'd go anywhere--do anything--just to get one good night's sleep again." "You poor boy! Didn't you rest well?" "A little better than usual, but I'm so dead tired when I wake up--I don't seem to have closed my eyes." Jack's nervous trouble had taken the turn of insomnia---that bugbear of physician and patient alike--and while the others had their night hours filled with dreams, or half-dreams, of pleasant anticipation, poor Jack tumbled and tossed restlessly. "I'm sure you will be much better when we get to San Juan," affirmed Cora. "The sea voyage will do you good, and then down there it will be such a change for you." "I suppose it will," assented her brother. "But just now I don't feel energetic enough even to head a rescue party for Senor Ralcanto." That remark seemed very serious to Cora, for her brother was of a lively and daring disposition, always the leader in any pranks. Now, his very listlessness told how strong a hold, or, rather, lack of hold, his nerves had on him. "Never mind," said Cora cheerfully. "Once we get started, and with Wally, Bess and Belle to cheer you up, I'm sure you'll be much better." "Anything for a change," again assented Jack, without enthusiasm. Arrangements were rapidly being made. The Kimball and Robinson homes in Chelton would be closed for, the winter, for the families planned to stay in the West Indies until spring should have again brought forth the North into its green attire. Walter Pennington had agreed to stay as long as Jack did, and Mrs. Kimball, being of independent means, as were Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, could prolong their cruise indefinitely, if they so desired. As for the girls, it was like standing on the threshold of a new wonderland. They did not know all the wonders they were about to see, nor did they dream of all the strange experiences and adventures in which they, would play an active part. Inez had communicated with the few distant friends she had in New York, telling them of her great joy in being able to get back to Sea Horse Island. And her father, too, might find happiness in release from his political prison. The Spanish girl would go as a maid and companion to Mrs. Kimball, and Inez rejoiced in her new duties. Cora's mother declared Inez was a jewel. The papers that it was hoped would free Mr. Ralcanto were carefully concealed for taking with the party, for, though Jack and Walter scoffed at the idea of anyone daring to try to get them, Mr. Robinson was not so sanguine. "Down there conditions are very different from up here," he said. "They haven't the same wholesome regard for law--or, rather, they take it into their own hands, as suits their fancy. And if any one of the political party opposed to Mr. Ralcanto, was to see a chance, even up north here, I don't doubt but that he'd take it, and make off with the papers. "Of course we might manage to do without them, but there is no use running unnecessary risks. So I'll just put them where they won't find them in a hurry." A search had been made in Chelton for the mysterious man who had tried to make off with Inez's valise, but all trace of him was lost. He might have been merely a passing tramp. The girls were in a constant flutter of excitement. There was so much to do, and so many new garments to secure. The two motor cars were kept in constant use, Bess, Belle and Cora darting back and forth in their respective houses, or to the Chelton shops. Occasionally they made a trip to New York for something which simply could not properly be had at the home stores. As for Jack and Walter, they declared that they we're ready to start on ten minutes notice. "All we have to do is to chuck a few things in a suit case, and buy our tickets," Walter declared. "I always carry a tooth brush with me." "Wonderful--marvelous!" mocked Bess. "Superior creatures--aren't they?" suggested Cora, smiling. And so the preparations went on. The party was to sail in a fruit steamer from New York, and would land at San Juan, where Mr. Robinson had engaged rooms at the best hotel. He expected to do considerable business there, but future plans were not all settled. "At any rate, we'll have a most glorious time!" declared Bess, "and I'm sure it will do Jack good." "I think its done him some good already just thinking about it," replied Cora. "Though he declares that he doesn't care much, one way or the other. It isn't like Jack to be thus indifferent." "He doesn't seem so very indifferent--just now," commented. Belle, dryly. "He and Walter are trying to explain to Inez how a motor car works and I do believe Jack is holding her hand much longer than he needs, to in showing her how the gears are shifted." The three girls--Cora and her chums--were in Cora's room, making a pretense at packing. They could look down to the drive at the side of the house--where Jack's car stood after a little run. As Belle had said, Jacks indifference seemed partially to have vanished. For he was enthusiastic in imparting some information to Inez. As I have explained, the position of the pretty Spanish girl was much different from that of an ordinary servant. She was more like a companion. And, now that a rest and good food had rounded out her hollow cheeks, she was distinctively pretty, with that rather bold and handsome type of beauty for which the southern women are so noted. Jack and Walter both seemed much impressed. The girls were not jealous--at least not yet--of Inez. Inez was so delighted with the prospect of getting back to her own island, and with the chance of helping free her father, that it is doubtful if she looked upon Jack and Walter with any more seeing eyes than those which she would have directed to small boys at their play. She liked them. She liked them to show her about the automobile, and she laughed frankly with them--but she was totally ingenuous. "And she could be so--so dangerous--if she chose," murmured Belle. "What do you mean?" asked Cora. "I mean--with her languorous," was the murmured reply. Cora looked sharply at her chum, but said nothing. The last gown had been delivered, and the trunks needed but the straps around them to close their lids. The Chelton houses had been put in readiness for their lonely winter, and already the tang of frost in the late October air had brought the advance message of Jack Frost. Some few purchases remained for Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Kimball to make, but these were deferred until the trip to New York to take the steamer. They would remain a day or so in the metropolis before sailing. "One last run in our cars, and then well put them away," suggested Cora to her chums. "We'll come along," Jack invited himself and Walter. They had a glorious day in the open. Then the gasoline tanks were emptied, the radiators drained, and the cars put away in the garage. "I do hope we can do some motor boating down there," said Jack, with something like a return of his former interest. "We shall, I'm sure," said Bess. "'They say it is ideal for the sport there." Inez had sent word to her father that an attempt would be made to free him. That is, she had sent the message. Whether it would reach him or not was another question, for his political enemies had him pretty well hedged about. New York was no novelty to our friends, for they often ran in during the winter. The days there were busy ones, and passed quickly. Their luggage was put aboard the steamer, the last purchases had been made, and now they were ready themselves to walk up the gang-plank. "Well, girls, are you all ready to leave?" asked Mr. Robinson, as he came on deck. "All ready--for waters blue!" half chanted Cora. "Inez," she asked, "would you mind going down and seeing if mother has everything she wants?" "I go, Senorita," murmured the Spanish girl. As she turned to make her way to Mrs. Kimball's stateroom, Inez started and drew back at the sight of a very fat man just coming aboard. "Zat man! Here!" she gasped, and Cora turned to see Inez shrink out of sight behind one of the lifeboats. CHAPTER X THE BLUE WATERS "What is the matter, my dear girl?" asked Cora, when she had recovered from the little start Inez gave her. "Did that man do anything--or speak to you?" and she looked indignantly about for a ship's officer to whom to complain. "No! No--not that!" cried the Spanish girl, quickly. "He did not speak--he did not even look!" "Then why are you so alarmed?" "It is because I know zat man--I know him when I am in New York before. He try to find out from me about my father," and a shivering, as if of fear, seemed to take possession of the timid girl. "Do you mean he belonged to the political party that put your father in prison?" "Zat is it. Oh, but zese politics! I know not what zey mean, but zey are trouble--trouble always. Now zat man he is here--he is looking for me, I am sure." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Cora, determined, whether she believed it or, not, to make light of the matter, for Inez was certainly much alarmed. "I don't believe he even knows you are on board," Jack's sister went on, "But we'll speak to Mr. Robinson about it. He'll know what to do. Do you think that man saw you?" "I know not, Senorita Cora. But I am much afraid!" There was no doubt of that; the girl's eyes and every movement, showed her alarm. "Come along!" Cora forced herself to say brightly. "We'll soon settle this matter. We'll find out who that man is, and--" "Oh, no! No, Senorita. Do not trouble. It you should do zat, zis man would only make matters worse for my poor father. Let him alone!" "And have you, and us, worrying all the time on this voyage? Indeed, I'll not." This was not Cora's way. She never shrank from doing what she considered to be her duty. In this case, her duty lay in finding out whether or not there was a real, or fancied enemy, of Mr. Ralcanto's aboard. The man who had caused this little flurry of excitement, had, by this time, gone down to his stateroom. Other belated passengers were hurrying aboard, the last consignment of freight was being brought to the dock, and preparations for leaving were multiplying. "I might as well wait until I can see him, you can point him out to me again," said Cora, "and then I'll show him to Mr. Robinson. He can speak to the captain, and find out who the big man is." "Very well, Senorita," assented Inez. "But I do not wish to give annoyance. I have already been such a burden--" "Nonsense!" Cora cried. "We've undertaken this business of getting your father out of that political prison, and we're going to do it. I think we're going to start now." There was little doubt about it. Bells were jingling, whistles were blowing and men were hoarsely shouting. Then the gang-plank was pulled to the dock, away from the steamer's side, just after a last belated passenger had run up it. Mooring ropes were cast off, and then with a blast from her siren, that fairly made the decks tremble, the ship was slowly pushed out into the river to drop down the harbor, and so on her way to Porto Rico. It was just before the pilot was about to leave, that Cora got a chance to carry out her intention of drawing the attention of Mr. Robinson to the mysterious man who had so seriously alarmed Inez. The personal baggage of our travelers had been put away in the respective staterooms, and they were all up on deck watching the scenes about the harbor. Inez, who was standing near Mrs. Kimball and Cora, suddenly gave a start, and touching Jack's sister on the arm, whispered: "There he is! And he is looking right at me!" Cora turned quickly. She did behold the gaze of the fat man directed in rather scrutinizing fashion on the Spanish girl, and, as he saw that he was attracting attention, he quickly averted his eyes. In appearance he was a Cuban or Spaniard, well dressed and prosperous looking, but not of prepossessing appearance. At that moment Mr. Robinson strolled past, talking to the captain whom he knew, for the twins' father had long been engaged in a branch of the coffee importing business, and had much to do with ships. "Now is my chance," thought Cora. "I'll find out who that man is." She whispered to Inez to keep the mysterious stranger in view, while she herself went to speak to Mr. Robinson and the captain. She had previously been introduced to the commander, and found him most agreeable. Cora quickly explained to Mr. Robinson the little alarm Inez had experienced, and requested him to find out, from the captain, who the man was. "That man?" queried the commander, in answer to Mr. Robinson's question. "Why, he is an old traveler with me. He goes up and down to Porto Rico quite often. He's a coffee merchant, Miguel Ramo by name, and very wealthy, I believe. Do you wish to meet him?" "Oh, no!" said Cora hastily, and with a meaning look at Mr. Robinson, "I--I just wanted to know who he was." "He has a very interesting personality," went on the captain. "He has been through a number of revolutions in his own native country, of Venezuela, and, I believe, has mixed up, more or less, with politics in Porto Rico. He tells some queer stories." "Perhaps I shall be glad to make his acquaintance, later," murmured Mr. Robinson, as Cora, with a meaning look, slipped away. She had found out part of what she wanted to know. While Mr. Robinson and the captain continued their stroll along deck, Cora slipped to where Inez was waiting. "Do you know a Senor Miguel Ramo?" asked Jack's sister. Inez puckered her brow in thought. "No," she said slowly, "I do not know ze name, but I am sure zat man was on Sea Horse Island when my father was taken to prison. I am fearful of him." "Well, you needn't be," declared Cora, lightly. "Remember you're with us, and under the protection of Mr. Robinson. Besides, that man seems well known to Captain Watson, and, even if he is a revolutionist, he may not be a bad one." Inez shook her head. The sad experiences through which she had passed had not tended to make her brave and self-reliant, as was Cora. But, even at that, Inez could not but feel the helpful influence of the motor girls, and already, from their influence, she, had gained much. Out of seeming confusion and chaos came order and discipline, and soon matters were running smoothly aboard the vessel. Jack and Walter came up on-deck, with Bess and Belle, and the young people, including Inez, who was regarded more as a companion than as a maid, formed one of the group that watched the shores and ships slipping past, as they went through the Narrows, and out into the bay. Cora told of the little alarm Inez had experienced, and Walter was at once anxious to establish a sort of espionage over the suspect. Jack agreed with him, and doubtless they would have constituted themselves a committee of two to "dog" the footsteps of the fat man, had not Cora firmly interfered. "Mr. Robinson is looking after him," said Jack's sister, "and he'll do all that is necessary. Besides, I don't believe that man is the one Inez thinks he is. She isn't quite so sure as she was; are you?" "No, Senorita. And yet--I know not why but I am of a fear about him." "Don't you worry--I'll look out for you!" said Jack, taking her hand, which Inez, with a pretty blush, hastily snatched away from him. The pilot was "dropped," and then began the real voyage of about fifteen hundred miles to San Juan. It was destined to be uneventful, so we shall not concern ourselves with it, except to say that though Mr. Robinson kept a close watch on Senor Ramo, he could detect nothing that could connect him with the imprisonment of the father of Inez. If the coffee merchant were in any way responsible, he betrayed no sign of it, not even when Mr. Robinson, in conversation with him, introduced the name of Senor Ralcanto. So, unless the fat man was an excellent actor, it was decided Inez had been mistaken. She herself, however, would not admit this, and continued to believe the man an enemy of her family. She avoided meeting him, and when she saw him on deck, she went back to her stateroom. The weather had been cold, sharp and rather dreary on leaving New York, and warm clothing and coats were in demand. But in a day or so the balmy winds of the south began to make themselves felt, and the travelers were glad to don lighter clothing. Mr. Robinson had been to Cuba, though not to Porto Rico, but the islands, are much the same, and his knowledge of one sufficed for the other. Inez, too, was of service to the girls and the two ladies in telling them what to wear. Mr. Robinson and the boys were comfortable in suits of thin Scotch tweed, once the southern limits were reached, and later they changed to linen of the kind they used during their stay. Mrs. Robinson, Mrs. Kimball, and the girls varied from brown silks to linens, and found them perfectly well suited to the climate. The days slipped by. The sun became warmer and warmer, and then, one morning, as the party came on, deck after breakfast, Cora, going forward, called out: "Oh, see how blue the water is!" "Isn't it!" agreed Bess. "How beautiful!" murmured Belle. "Now we are coming to my country," said Inez, softly. "Off there is Porto Rico, and beyond--beyond is Sea Horse Island--and my father!" There were traces of tears in her eyes. Cora softly slipped her hand into that of the pretty refugee. CHAPTER XI IN SAN JUAN The anchor splashed into the blue waters of San Juan Bay. The ship swung around at her cable, and came to rest, and then up came the small boats with their skippers, eager to obtain fares and the transportation of baggage. Sailing craft there were, puffing tugs, old-fashioned naphtha launches and the more modern gasoline launches, all-swarming about the steamer. "Look at that!" cried Jack, as he viewed the scene before him. "What does it all mean? Why don't we go up to the dock in regular style, and not stop away out here?" "There aren't any really good docks in San Juan, though there may be some built soon," said Mr. Robinson. "We'll have to go ashore in some of these craft. They're all right. I'll see to our luggage." "Well, this is some difference from New York," commented Jack. "Yes, and that's the beauty of it," remarked his sister. "It is the change that is going to do you good, Jack dear," and she smiled at him, brightly. "I'm beginning to feel better already, Sis," he answered, and there was a keener look in his eyes that had been so tired, while his checks were flushed with the warmth of the air, and the excitement in anticipation of new scenes. "Well, get ready, girls!" called Mr. Robinson, "Get all your furbelows and fixings together, and we'll go ashore in one of these boats. My! but it's warm!" It was hot, with the heat of the tropics, for the rainy season was not yet fully over, though it was approaching its end, and more pleasant weather might be expected. Porto Rico, I might explain, nearly resembles the climate of Florida, though it is not quite so hot in summer, nor so cold in winter. It is nearly always like June in Porto Rico, the thermometer then, and in July, reaching its maximum of eighty-six, the average being seventy-two. Mr. Robinson bargained with the skipper of a large and new motor boat to take him, his party and their baggage ashore, and when the trunks and bags had been transferred, off they started over the blue waters toward the small, docks, at which were congregated many small fishing craft. "Oh, but it is beautiful!" exclaimed Cora, as she looked down into the waters, which were of an intense blue, even close to shore. That is characteristic of this coral land, the ocean near the coast being always that blue, except where it is colored by the inflowing of some large stream. Before them lay the city itself, a city of many white buildings, the color of which met and blended with the tints of the mountains beyond, and those tints varied from olive green, into olive brown, indigo, and, in some places, even to the more brilliant ultramarine. The motor girls gazed at the scene with eager eyes, and into those of Inez came tears of joy, for she was, every minute, coming nearer and nearer to the land she loved--the land where her father was a prisoner. Up to the small dock puffed the motor boat, and when Mr. Robinson demanded to know the price, the boatman named a sum that instantly brought forth a voluble protest from the Spanish girl. At once she and the boatman engaged in a verbal duel. "Mercy!" exclaimed Bess. "What can have happened? Is he some brigand who wants to carry us off?" "Or a pirate?" suggest Jack. "He looks like one. Wally, have you a revolver with you?" "Don't you dare!" cried Belle, covering her ears with her hands. "He want to charge two pesos too much!" explained Inez, when she had her breath. "It is not lawful!" and once more she expostulated in Spanish. The boatman, with a shrug of his shoulders, as much as to ask, "How can one quarrel with a woman?" accepted the amount Inez picked out from the change Mr. Robinson held out, and then they went ashore, their luggage being put on the pier. The boatman was sullen about the failure of his trick, until Mr. Robinson, who was an experienced traveler, slipped him a coin, which must have been large enough to make up for the disappointment, for the man murmured: "Muchas gracias!" and fell to with a will to help the travelers get their belongings into a carriage. "What did he say to papa?" asked Bess, of Inez. "Many thanks," translated the Spanish girl. "I must practice that!" spoke Jack. "What else do you say in this country, Inez?" "Oh, many zings, Senor," and she blushed prettily. "It all depends on what you want. But many here speak ze English as you do. Zere is little trouble." "What would I do if I wanted a glass of ice cream soda water?" asked Walter. "And I feel like one now." "Zere is not so much of your ice-cream soda here," went on Inez, "but ozer drinks are of a goodness. Cocoanut milk is much nice. If in a store you go, say 'Quiero' (ke-a-ro), which means 'I want.' And zen name zat which you desire. You will of a soon learn ze Spanish for many zings." "And how shall we know what to pay?" asked Bess. "Say 'Cuanto?'" directed Inez. "Cuanto (koo-ahn-to) means 'how much,' and the man will soon tell you--if, indeed, he does not tell you too much. But you will soon learn." "I have a better way than all this cuanto and piero business," spoke Walter. "How?" asked Jack. "Show me." "Go in the place, make a noise like the article you want, or, better still, go pick it out from the shelves, hold out a handful of money, and let the fellow help himself," was Walter's way out of the difficulty. "He'll probably leave you enough for carfare." "Well, that is a good way, too," agreed Jack. "We'll try both." The travelers were distributed in two carriages, their heavy luggage being put in a wagon to follow them to the hotel. On the way to their stopping place, Cora and her chums were much interested in the various sights. They had come to a typical tropical Spanish city, though it was under the dominion of the United States. No one seemed in a hurry, and, though there were many whites, including Spaniards, to be seen, the majority of the inhabitants were of negro blood, the gradations being from very black to a mulatto, with a curious reddish tinge, in hair and skin, showing Spanish blood. It was quite a different hotel from the one they had stopped at in New York, there being none of that smartness of service one looks for in the metropolis. But the rooms were comfortable, and the travelers were assured of good cooking, Inez said. However, there was a penetrating odor of onion and garlic from the direction of the kitchen, that made Jack say to his mother, apprehensively: "I say, Mater, you know I can't go onions, especially since I am down on my feed. What'll I do? I can stand their red pepper, but onions never!" "You shall but ask zat none be put in your food, and none will," said Inez. "Many travelers do so. I, myself, do not like onions any more." "I'm glad of it!" said Jack. "You can sit next to me at table, Inez," whereat she blushed under her olive hue. Mr. Robinson, seeing that the ladies, girls and youths were comfortably settled in their new quarters, went off to see some business associates, promising to come back in time for an afternoon drive, following the siesta. "For everyone takes a siesta," explained Inez, speaking of the "afternoon nap." The drive about the city, and out a distance into the country, was enjoyed by all. Jack seemed to be improving hourly, and his mother and sister assured each other that no mistake had been made in bringing him to Porto Rico. "And, now that we have him in a fair way to getting better, we must see what we can do to help Inez," said Cora. "I am sure she will never be happy until she is on her way to Sea Horse Island, and is able to start measures for freeing her father." "I fancy we had better let Mr. Robinson attend to those matters," Mrs. Kimball said. "He knows best what moves to make. Poor girl! I know just how she feels." The party stopped for a while to look at the statue of Columbus, who discovered Porto Rico on his second voyage. From there, they drove about the city, admiring the various buildings of Spanish architecture, and, as a finish to the drive, went to the old morro--fort or castle--of San Juan. All signs of the bombardment by Admiral Sampson's fleet, during the Spanish-American War, had been done away with. It was a place of interest to them all, for it was very old, and had withstood many attacks. They went through the watch-tower and also the lighthouse. "Well, I think we've done enough for one day," announced Cora, as they started back for the hotel. "I'm quite done out, and I'm sure Jack must be tired." "A little," he admitted. A concert in the evening, a stroll about the plaza, watching the pretty Spanish girls, and the homely duennas, brought the day to a close. "And now for bed," sighed Cora. "I wonder if one dreams in San Juan any differently than in Chelton?" "Cheerful Chelton!" cried Bess. "Doesn't it seem far away!" All the rooms of our party were near together on the same corridor, Bess, Belle and Cora having connecting apartments. They left the doors open between, and it was due to this that Cora heard, soon after falling into a light doze, the voice of Belle calling her. "Cora! Cora!" came the entreaty. "Yes--what is it?" asked Cora, sleepily. "Some one is in my room!" hissed Belle, in a stage whisper. "Oh!" cried Cora, and she sat up suddenly, and pulled the cord of the electric light. CHAPTER XII LEFT ALONE The flood of radiance from the electric light shone from Cora's room, into that where Belle was, and with the gleam of the modern illumination, Cora's bravery grew apace. "What did you say, Belle?" she asked, now quite wide awake. "Are you ill?" "No, but, oh! I'm so frightened. There's some one in my room! I'm sure of it!" "Nonsense!" "I tell you I can hear some one walking around!" insisted Belle. "Did you get up and look?" asked Cora. "Did I get up? Indeed I did not!" was the indignant answer. "I'm scared stiff as it is." "And you want me to look?" murmured Cora. "Oh, but you have your light lit, Cora dear. And really I am afraid to get up. Do come and see what it is. Perhaps it's only one of those large fruit bats that Inez told us about." "A bat! Indeed I'll not come in and have it get tangled in my hair!" objected Cora. "I'm going to call some one of the hotel help." But there was no need, for Jack, whose room was across the corridor from that of his sister, heard the talking, and, getting into a dressing gown and slippers, he knocked at Cora's door. "What is it?" he asked. "Belle thinks she hears something in her room." "It's in mine, now," called out Bess, whose apartment was beyond that of her sister. "Open the door, and I'll have a look," suggested Jack, good-naturedly. "Wait a minute," Cora said, and, slipping into a robe, she admitted her brother. "Now we'll see what's going on," he promised. "Cover up your heads, girls," he called to Bess and Belle, as he and Cora went into the room of the latter. "If it's a villain, you won't get nervous when you see me squelch him." "Oh!" faintly murmured Belle, as she pulled the covers over her head. Jack groped for the electric switch and found it, making light Belle's room. "I don't see a thing," he announced, looking carefully about. "It is in here!" said Bess, faintly. "I can hear it walking about. It's rattling some papers in a corner of my room." Jack and Cora went on through to the farther apartment, and Jack, turning on the light there, approached a pile of paper Bess had tossed in one corner after unwrapping some purchases made during the day. "Look out!" warned Cora, while Bess adopted the same protective measures as had her sister. "It may be a rat--or--or something!" "Most likely--something," said Jack. He began picking up piece after piece of paper, and then he suddenly uttered an exclamation. "Ah! Would you!" he snapped, and, standing on one foot, he took the slipper from the other, holding his bare member carefully off the floor, while he slapped viciously at the pile of papers with his bedroom weapon. "Got him!" he announced triumphantly, after two or three blows. "What was it--a bat?" asked Bess, in muffled tones. "A centipede," answered Jack. "A big one, too. About seven inches long." "And their bite is--death!" murmured Bess, in awe-stricken tones. "Nothing of the sort, though it's very painful" said Jack, shortly. "Just as well to keep clear of them, however. I'll throw this defunct specimen out of the window." "Please do, and be sure my screen is down," begged Bess. "I wonder how he got in?" "Oh, there are more or less of them in all hotels, I guess," said Jack, cheerfully enough. "Don't you dare say so!" cried Belle. "Please look around my room, and leave the light burning. I know I'll never sleep a wink." Jack tossed out the centipede he had killed, and then looked among the waste paper for more, standing with his bare foot raised, and with ready slipper, for the bite of this insect, which grows to a large size in Porto Rico, is anything but pleasant, though it is said never to cause death, except perhaps in the case of some person whose blood is very much impoverished. Both Bess and Belle insisted on their lights being left aglow, though Jack made a careful search and could discover no more of the unpleasant visitors. How Belle had heard the one in her room, if it really had been that which she said made the noise, was a mystery, but the creature might have rattled paper as it did in the room of Bess. "Call me if you want anything more, Sis," said Jack to his sister, as he started back to his own apartment. And then, as he was about to close, Cora's door Jack looked fixedly at a place on the floor near her bureau, and with a muttered exclamation hurried toward it. "Oh! what is it?" his sister begged, alarmed at the look on his face. "Another one--trying to hide," he murmured. Off came his slipper again and there followed a resounding whack on the floor. "Got that one, too!" Jack announced, and then, as Coral made brave by the declaration of the death, came closer, she uttered a cry. "Jack Kimball!" she gasped, accusingly, "you've broken my best barrette," and she picked up from the floor the shattered fragments of a dark celluloid hair comb, which had fallen from the bureau. "Barrette," murmured Jack, in dazed tones. "Yes--a sort of side comb, only it goes in the back." "Well, it looked just like a centipede trying to hide under the bureau," Jack defended himself. "Is it much damaged?" "Damaged? It's utterly ruined," sighed Cora. "Never mind, Jack, you meant all right," and she smiled at her brother. "Oh, dear! I don't believe I'm going to like it here, even if the waters are such a heavenly blue." "What was it--another?" demanded Belle. "It was my barrette, my dear," laughed Cora. "Come, young folks! You must quiet down," came the voice of Cora's mother from the next room. "What's all the excitement about?" "Just--insects," said Jack, with a chuckle. "We are hunting the deadly barretted side comb!" "You'll have to get me another," said Cora, as she bade Jack good-night. There was no further disturbance, and the hotel clerk said, next morning, that the presence of one or two scorpions, or centipedes, could be accounted for from the fact that the rooms occupied by our friends had not recently been used. He promised to see to it that all undesirable visitors were hunted out during the day. For a week or more, life in San Juan was an experience of delight for the motor girls. They visited points of interest in and about the city, taking Inez with them. Of course Jack and Walter also went, and the change was doing the former a world of good. The mysterious "fat man," as Jack insisted on calling Senor Ramo, had not come ashore at San Juan, going on with the steamer. His destination was another of the many West Indian islands. As yet, Mr. Robinson had had no chance to communicate with, or make arrangements for rescuing the father of Inez. But he was making careful plans to do this, and now, being on the ground, he could confirm some information difficult to get at in New York. The motor girls, and their party, soon accustomed themselves to the changed conditions. They learned to eat as the Porto Ricans do--little meat making eggs take the place, and they never knew before what a variety of ways eggs could e served. The weather was growing more pleasant each day, and with the gradual passing of the hurricane season, they were allowed to take longer trips in one of the many motor boats with which the harbor abounded. Sometimes they spent whole days on the water, their dusky captain keeping a sharp watch out for hurricanes. These can be detected some hours off, and a run made for safety. Some of the whirling storms are very dangerous, and others merely squalls. It was when they had been in San Juan about a month, and Mr. Robinson had promised, in the next few days, to take some measures regarding the liberation of Senor Ralcanto, that something occurred which changed the whole aspect of the visit of the motor girls to waters blue. Mr. Robinson found that he would have to go on business to a coffee plantation near Basse Terre, on the French island of Guadeloupe, and as he had heard there were also rare orchids to be obtained them, he wanted to stay a few days after his trade matters had been attended to. "But I did want to start for Sea Horse Island, and begin my plan to liberate your father," he said to Inez. "It can wait, Senor,"' she said, softly. "A few days more will not make much of ze difference, as long as he is to be rescued anyhow. I would not have you disappointed in ze orchids." "Then I'll go when we come back," said Mr. Robinson. "I'll go to Guadeloupe, and take my wife and Mrs. Kimball with me. I want them to see the place." "And leave us here alone?" asked Bess. "Certainly, why not? You are in good hands at the hotel, especially as the boys are with you. And Inez is as good as a guide and European courier made into one." The weather, which had been fine on the evening when Mr. Robinson and the two ladies went aboard the steamer, underwent a sudden change before morning, and when Cora and her chums awoke in the hotel, and looked out, they found raging a storm that, in its fury, was little short of a hurricane. "Oh, Jack!" his sister exclaimed, as she listened to the roar of the wind and the sharp swish of the rain, "I'm so afraid!" "What about? This hotel is a good one." "I know. But mamma on that ship--they're out at sea now, and--" She did not finish. "That's so," spoke Jack, and a troubled look came over his face. CHAPTER XIII THE HURRICANE How the wind howled, and how the rain beat down! Outside the window of Cora's room, the gutters were flush, and running over with seething water. In the street below there was a river, along which bedraggled pedestrians forded their way, envying the patient donkeys drawing the market venders' carts. At times the wind rose to a fury that rattled the casements, and fairly shook the solid structure of the hotel. Then Cora, who, with Jack, had come up from the breakfast room, clung to her brother, and a look of fear came into her eyes. Nor were Jack's altogether calm. "What a storm!" murmured the girl. The door, leading into the next room, opened, and Bess came out. "Oh, Cora!" she gasped, putting the last touches to her hair, which she had arranged in a new Spanish way she had seen, and then, tiring of it, had gone to her room to put it back in its accustomed form. "Isn't this just awful!" "Terrible, I say!" came from Belle, who now entered from her apartment. "It certainly does rain," agreed Jack. "Five minutes ago there wasn't a drop in the street, and now you could float your motor boat there, if you had it, Cora." "And we may wish we had it, before we're through," chimed in the voice of Walter. They had made of Cora's room, which was the largest of the suite, a sort of gathering place. "Why so, Wally?" demanded Jack. "It looks as though we'd be flooded," was his answer. "Oh, these storms are common down here" put in Bess. "I spoke to Inez about it, and she said the natives here were used to them." "Such storms as this?" asked Cora, as a fiercer dash of rain, and a sudden blast of wind, seemed about to tear away the windows and let the fury of the elements into the room. "Well, I suppose that's what she meant," said Bess. "But it is awful, isn't it? And mamma and papa, and your mother, Cora, out on that steamer." "Oh, they'll be all right," declared Jack. "It's a big steamer, and the captain and crew must be used to the weather down here. They'll know what to do. Probably they ran for harbor when they saw the storm coining. They say skippers in the West Indies can tell when a storm's due hours ahead." But that brought little comfort to the girls, and even Walter looked worried as the day wore on and the fury of the storm did not abate. Inez, as one who had lived in the region, was appealed to rather often to say whether this was not the worst she had ever seen. "Oh, I have seen zem much worse," was her ready answer, "but zey did terrible damage. Terrible!" And, on talking with some of the old residents of San Juan, and with the hotel people, Jack and Walter learned that the storm was a most unusual one. It was of the nature of a hurricane, but it did not have the sudden sharpness and shortness of attack of those devastating storms. The real hurricane season, due to a change of climatic conditions, was supposed to have passed, and this storm was entirely unlooked for, and unexpected. It did not blow steadily, as hurricanes did, but in fits and gusts, more disconcerting than a steady blow of more power. The rain, also, came in showers. Now there would not be a drop filling, and again there would be a deluge, blinding in its intensity. For want of a better name the storm was called a hurricane, though many of the real characteristics were lacking. And, as the dreary day wore on, the motor girls, and the boys, too, felt themselves coming under the spell of fear--not so much for themselves, as for their loved ones aboard the Ramona, which was the name of the steamer on, which Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Kimball had sailed. "Oh, if anything has happened to them!" sighed Cora. "Can't we get some news?" asked Bess, faintly. "Surely there are telegraph lines and cables," spoke Belle. "There are," the hotel clerk informed them, "but there are so many small islands hereabouts, into the harbor of any one of which the ship may have put, that it would be impossible to say where it was. And not all the islands have means of communication. So I beg of you not to worry, Senoritas. Surely they are safe." Yet even the clerk, sophisticated as he was, did not believe all he himself said. For the storm, as the girls learned afterward, was almost unprecedented in the West Indies. There was nothing they could do save to wait until it was over--until it had blown itself out, and then to wait, perhaps longer and with an ever increasing anxiety, for some news of those who had sailed. "Oh, if Senor Robinson should be lost!" half sobbed Inez, on the third day of the storm, when it showed no signs of abating. "If he should be lost, my father would be doomed forever to zat prison." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Jack, for it was in talking to Jack and Walter that the Spanish girl gave utterance to these sentiments. "Don't go saying such things around Cora and Bess and Belle, or you'll give them the fidgets. There's no sign the steamer is lost just because it has run into a storm." "I know, Senor Jack,"--for so she called him, "but zere is so much danger. And my father--he is languishing in prison." "Yes, but we'll have him out. Mr. Robinson didn't take those papers with him; did he--those papers that contain the evidence?" "No, I have them--he has only ze copies." "Well, then you needn't worry. When this storm blows over, we'll all get busy on this rescue business!" and Jack spoke with a return of his old energy. He was becoming more like himself every day now, and even the stress and danger of the storm had no hampering effects on him. "Oh, you Americans!" exclaimed Inez, with a pretty pathetic gesture. "You speak of such queer English--to rescue is no business--it demands intrigue--secrecy." "Well, we'll make it our business," said Walter, grimly, "But, Inez, don't scare the other girls. We have troubles enough without that, you know, with Mr. Robinson away. Just make a bluff at feeling all right." "A bluff, Senor--a bluff--a high hill--I am to make a high hill of feeling good?" and she looked puzzled. "Translate, Jack," begged Walter, hopelessly, and Jack, nothing loath, took Inez off into a corner of the hotel parlor to explain. But with all their assumed right-heartedness, the boys were finally genuinely alarmed. Indefinite reports came to the hotel of much danger and damage to shipping, and several large steamers were said to have gone on the reefs which abounded in that region of islands. No direct news came of the Ramona. In fact, she had not been sighted, or spoken to, since leaving San Juan. "Oh, if anything has happened to her!" sighed Cora. "There's just as much chance that nothing has happened, as that there has," declared Jack. "She might have gone into any one of a dozen harbors." "I suppose so, but, somehow, I can't help worrying, Jack." "I know, little girl," he said, sympathetically. "But I oughtn't to trouble you," Cora went on. "Are you really feeling any better, Jack?" "Heaps; yes. Water and I are going out to have a look at the water to-day. We're tired of being cooped up here." "Oh, I wish I could go!" "Why not? Come along. It will do you girls good." So it was arranged. The girls, including Inez, donned rubber coats, and, well wrapped up for it was chilling with the advent of rain, they set forth from the hotel. They made a struggling way to the sea wall, and there looked out over a foaming waste of waters. In one place where a sunken reef of coral came close to the surface the waves beat and tore at it as though to wrench it up, and cast it ashore. There the sea boiled and seethed in fury. "A ship wouldn't last long' out there," said Walter, quietly. "I should say not," agreed Jack. On the beach the waves pounded with sullen fury, making a roar that drowned the voices of the motor girls. Cora and her chums clung to one another as they leaned their bodies against the blast, and peered through the mist. "Isn't it awful," said Cora, with a shudder. "Yes--for--for those who have to be out in it," spoke Bess, and, though she mentioned no names, they all knew what she meant. CHAPTER XIV NEWS OF SHIPWRECK Cora, with an impatient, nervous gesture, laid aside the piece of lace upon which she was engaged. The long, breathing sigh which followed her rising from the chair, was audible across the room. "What's the matter?" asked Bess, who, seated near a window, where the light was best, was industriously engaged in mending a hole in one of her silk stockings. She held it off at arm's length, on her spread-out hand, as if to judge whether the repair would show when the article was worn. "I just can't do another stitch!" Cora said. "It makes me so--nervous." "It's beautiful lace--a lovely pattern," spoke Belle, as she picked it up from the table. "I don't see how Inez carries them all in her head," for Cora was working out a model set for her by the Spanish girl. "Nor I," said did Bess, "It's perfectly wonderful." She glanced at Cora, who had gone to stand by another window to watch for signs of clearing weather, that, of late, had come with more certain promise. "There! I think that will do!" announced Bess, as she cut off the silk thread. "I wonder if we shall ever get to the point where we can go without stockings, as the Spanish ladies do here." "Do they?" asked Cora, absently. "I hadn't noticed." "They do indeed, my dear," answered her chum. "I read about it, but I didn't believe it until Inez took us to call on Senora Malachita the other day--Belle and I--you didn't come, you know." "I remember." "Well, my dear, positively she didn't have any stockings on--only slippers, and she received us that way. Belle and I had all we could do not to laugh, and I wondered if she could be so poor that she couldn't afford them, though her, house, was beautiful, and the plaza, with its fountain and flowers, a perfect dream. "But Inez told me that often even the well-to-do Spanish ladies here don't wear stockings, unless they go to church or to a dance. Even then they don't put them on, sometimes, until just before they go into the church. We saw one, riding in on a donkey. She stopped just outside the church, and put on her stockings as calmly as though they were gloves." "Fancy!" cried Cora. "Then you aren't going to follow that fashion?" asked Belle. "No, indeed!" exclaimed the plump Bess, as she carefully inspected the other stocking for a possible worn place. She did not find it, and sighed in content. "Aren't you going to finish that lace, Cora?" asked Belle. "Not now, at any rate. I just can't sit here and--wait! I want to be doing something." "But there's nothing to do, dear," objected Belle. "We can't do anything but wait for news of them. And no news is always good news, you know." "Just because it has to be!" retorted Cora. "But, girls, positively, I believe the weather is clearing! Yes, there's a blue patch of sky. Oh, if this storm should be over!" Her two chums came and stood by her at the casement. Off to the west the dark and sullen sky did seem to be clearing. The rain had ceased some time ago, but the wind was still blowing half a gale, and the boys, who had come back from the docks a short while before, reported that the sea was still very high, and that no ships had ventured to leave the harbor. Then Jack and Walter went out again, saying they were going to the marina, the water plaza. "Oh, but it is going to clear!" cried Cora, in delight, an hour or so later. "Now we shall hear some news of them!" "Won't it be lovely!" exclaimed Bess. "Oh, I have been so worried!" "So have I," admitted her sister. "But of course they are safe!" "Of course," echoed Cora, and yet there was a vague fear within her--a fear that, somehow or other, in spite of her effort for self-control, communicated itself to her voice. "Let's go out,"' suggested Belle. "I'm tired of being cooped up here." "Where are the boys?" asked Cora. "Really we oughtn't to go out so much without them. We'll become talked about!" "Never!" laughed Bess. "We are Americans, and everything is possible to us." The others laughed. Before coming to Porto Rico, they had read books about the island, in which stress was laid on Spanish customs, especially about ladies going about without a male member of their family, or some one to serve as a duenna. But our friends were too sensible to be hampered by that custom, save at night. "The boys are probably off enjoying themselves," said Cora. "Jack is so much better. It has done him a world of good down here. We may meet them. Come on, let's go out. Oh, there's the sun!" It was shining for the first time since the storm began, and the girls hastened to take advantage of it. "Where's Inez?" asked Belle. "Lying down, she had a little headache," explained Bess. "We won't disturb her, and we won't be gone long." There was a great outpouring of the inhabitants, all anxious to take advantage of the clearing of the storm, and the streets were soon crowded. The girls went down to the sea wall, at a point where Jack and Walter had made a habit of taking observations from time to time, and there they found the chums. "Welcome to our city!" laughed Walter, as he greeted the girls. "Won't you come and have something cool to drink? It's going to be insufferably hot!" And so it promised after the storm, for the sun, coming out with almost tropical warmth, after all the moisture, was fairly sizzling now. "It sounds nice," spoke Cora. "Oh, Jack, do you think we can get any news of the steamer soon?" "I think so, Sis. Let's go round by the Morro, and see what the semaphore says." At the ancient Spanish fort flags were displayed to signal the expected arrival of steamers. The little party found a refreshment booth and enjoyed the iced and flavored cocoanut milk, which made a most delightful beverage. Then, going on to the fort, they saw, fluttering in the breeze that had succeeded the hurricane, the flags that told of the approach of a steamer. "I--I hope it brings news," said Cora, softly. "Good news," supplemented Belie. "Of course," added her sister. They strolled back to the marina, the business quarter of the town, fronting directly on the water. There, in the activities of the owners of several motor launches, was read the further news of the approach of the first steamer since the storm. The lighters were getting ready to go out to bring ashore the passengers and freight. As it would probably be some time before the ship came to anchor out in the harbor, the boys and girls went back to the hotel, for it was approaching the dinner hour. In spite of their anxiety to receive any possible news of the Ramona, which the incoming steamer might bring, the girls went to their rooms for a siesta after the meal--a habit that had really been forced on them, not only by the customs, but by the climate of the place. It was actually too warm to go about in the middle of the day, and especially now, since the sun had come out exceedingly hot after the storm. Jack and Walter, however, declared that they were going down to the marina to get the earliest possible news. As it chanced, the girls remaining at the hotel were the first to hear that which made so great a difference to them. Cora, Bess and Belle, with Inez, whose head had stopped aching, came down about four o'clock, dressed for a stroll. There was to be a band concert in one of the public park--the first in several days. As they went up to the desk to leave their keys, they saw standing talking to the clerk a very stout man, at the sight of whom Inez drew back behind Cora. "It is him--him again," she whispered. "Who?" "Zat man--Senor Ramo--I do not like zat he should see me." "Oh, you mustn't be so timid," declared Jack's sister. "He won't harm you." "No, but my father--" "I think you are mistaken, Inez!" went on Cora. "At any rate, he has seen us--he remembers us as from having come out on the same steamer with us," for Senor Ramo was now bowing, and is smile spread itself over his oily and expansive countenance. "Ah, Senorita Kembull!" he mispronounced. "I am charmed to see you again. Also the Senoritas Sparrow--er--I am so forget--I know it is some kind of one of your charming birds--ah!--Robinson--a thousand pardons! I am charmed!" and he bowed low to the twins. Then his eyes sought the face of Inez, but he showed no recognition, though the significant pause indicated that he expected also to address her. Clearly, if he had seen her on the steamer coming from New York, he did not remember her. There was a questioning look in his eyes. Inez pinched Cora's arm, and murmured something in her ear. Cora understood at once. Inez did not wish to meet this man, for reasons of her own. He might, or might not, be of the political party opposed to her father, and he might, or might not, have had a hand in placing Senor Ralcanto in prison. Of this Cora could only guess, but there was no mistaking the fear of Inez. Cora thought of the easiest way out of it. This was to allow Inez to assume the character she had been given--that of a maid. "Inez, I think I left my fan in my room--will you please get it for me?" requested Cora, at the same time giving the Spanish girl a meaning look. "Yes, Senorita," was the low-voiced answer, as Inez glided from the foyer. Senor Ramo seemed to understand. He turned, once more, with a smile to Cora. "And when may I have the pleasure of paying my respects to your honored mother?" he asked, "and to Senora--er--Robinson, and your father?" he inquired of the twins. "I have but just arrived, after a most stormy passage, from Barbados. Truly I thought we were lost, but we managed to weather the hurricane." "And we are hoping our folks did, too," said Cora. "We have heard nothing of them since they sailed on the Ramona, nearly a week ago. Did your steamer hear of that vessel, Senor Ramo?" she asked, eagerly. "The Ramona did you say?" he inquired, and there was that in his manner which sent a cold chill of fear to the hearts of the motor girls. "Yes," answered Cora, huskily. "Oh, has anything happened? Have you heard any news? Tell me! Oh!" and she clutched at her wildly beating heart. "The Ramona--a thousand pardons that I am the bearer of ill-tidings--the Ramona was shipwrecked!" said Senor Ramo. "We picked up some of the sailors from it! Ah, deeply do I regret to have to tell you such news!" CHAPTER XV A SEARCH PROPOSED "Cora, what's the matter? Has this man--?" It was Jack who spoke, as he suddenly entered the rotunda of the hotel, with Walter, and saw his sister faintly recoiling from the shock of the news brought by Senor Ramo. Jack had a bit of fiery temper, and it had not lessened by his recent nervousness. Then, too, he seemed to have caught some of the Spanish impetuosity since coming to Porto Rico. "Hush, Jack!" begged Belie. "It is bad news," and there was a trace of tears in her voice. "Bad news?" chorused Jack and Walter together. "Yes, Senor Kembull," again mispronounced the Spaniard, "I deeply regret to be the bearer of ill-tidings. I was just telling your sister, and her friends, that the Ramona has been wrecked." "The Ramona--the steamer mother sailed on--wrecked?" cried Jack. "How did it happen--where?" "As to where, I know not, but it happened, I assume, in the recent hurricane. Indeed, we barely escaped ourselves. I am just in from the Boldero. We picked up some refugees near St. Kitts. I did not hear their story in detail, but they said the Ramona had foundered with all on board!" "Oh!" gasped Belle, as she sank against Cora. The latter, meanwhile, had somewhat recovered from the shock. Again she was the quick-thinking, emergency-acting Cora Kimball. "We must find out exactly what happened," she said. "Belle, pull yourself together. Don't you dare faint--everyone is looking at you!" Perhaps this information, as much as the bottle of ammonia smelling salts, which Cora thrust beneath the nose of her chum, brought Belle to a realization of what part she must play. "I--I'm all right now," she faltered. "But, oh! It is so awful--terrible. Oh--dear!" "Hope for the best," said Walter kindly, leading her to the ladies' parlor, which was screened, by a grill, from the public foyer. "Often, now a days, in shipwreck, nearly all are saved, even if the vessel does founder." "Of a surety--yes!" Senor Ramo hastened to put in. "I am a stupid to blurt out my news so, but I did not think! I ask a thousand and one pardons." "It doesn't matter," said Jack. "We had to know sometime. The sooner the better. We must get busy." "Always busy--you Americans!" murmured the Spaniard. "If I can be of any service, Senor Kembull--" "You can take us, to where those sailors are that were picked up by your vessel, if you will," interrupted Jack. "I'd like to hear their story, and find out exactly where the Ramona went down. That is, if it is true that she completely foundered." "Why, if I may ask?" "Because, this is only the beginning. There may be a chance of saving some--our folks--if, by any possibility they reached some of the smaller islands. I must see those sailors." "They will most likely remain aboard the Boldero--the vessel on which I arrived," spoke Senor Ramo. "They lost everything but the clothes they wore. Doubtless you could see them on the steamer." "Then I'm going with you!" cried Cora. "I can't wait, Jack!" she pleaded, as he looked a refusal at her. "I must go!" "Oh, poor mamma and papa!" half sobbed Bess, for they were now in the seclusion of the ladies' parlor. "Oh, what will become of us?" "You mustn't give way like this!" objected Jack. "Now, if ever, is the time to be brave. There is lots to be done!" Jack was coming into his own again. The trip had worked wonders, but just this touch and spice of danger was needed to bring out his old energetic qualities. "What can be done?" asked Cora. "I don't know, yet. I'm going to find out. Maybe it isn't so bad as it sounds after all," replied Jack. "It sounds bad enough," sighed Cora. "But, Jack, I am with you in this. I simply won't be left out." "And no one wants to leave you out, Sis. Walter, just see if we can get a carriage, or a motor, to the marina. We'll take a boat from there out to the Boldero." "I will give you a letter to the captain," said Senor Ramo. "He knows me well, and he will show you every courtesy." "Surely," thought Cora, "this man cannot be a political plotter, who would put innocent men in prison. Inez must be mistaken about him. He is very kind." Some little excitement was caused by the advent of the bad news to our party of friends, and it quickly spread through the hotel. A number of the guests, whose acquaintance the motorgirls had made, offered their services, but there was little they could do. What was most needed was information concerning the wreck. Inez, who had made the getting of Cora's fan an excuse to go to her room, to escape Senor Ramo, heard the sad tidings, and came down. By this time the "fat suspect," as Jack had nicknamed him, had gone, having scribbled a note of introduction to the captain of the Boldero. "Oh, what is it, Senoritas?" gasped Inez. "Is it zat you are in sorrow?" "Yes," said Cora, sadly. "Great sorrow, Inez. We have had very bad news," and there were tears in her eyes. "I sorrow with you," said the impulsive Spanish girl, as she put her arm about Cora. "I was in sorrow myself, and you aided me. Now I must do ze same for you. Command me." "There is little that can be done until we learn more," Cora made answer. "The steamer has been wrecked." "With Senor Robinson, and with the Senoras Kimball and Robinson?" gasped Inez. "So we hear." "Ah, zat is indeed of great sorrow. I weep for you. My own little troubles are a nothing. My father may be in prison, but what of zat--he is living--and your mother--" She did not finish. Walter came in to announce that he had secured a large auto that would take them to the marina, whence they could get a boat to go out to the steamer. "I only hope those sailors haven't disappeared," murmured Jack. "Now then, are you girls ready?" "Yes," answered Belle. She, as well as Cora and Bess, had somewhat recovered their composure, after the first sudden shock. Hope had sprung up again, though they were presently to learn on what a slender thread that hope hung. Jack had regained some of his former commanding manner in the emergency. Inez went with her new friends to the docks. She seemed to have forgotten her own grief in ministering to the girls, and much of her former timid and shrinking manner had disappeared. They found a large and powerful motor boat that would take them out to the ship, and, indeed, a staunch craft was needed, since there was still a heavy swell on, from the recent storm. "Are there many boats like this in San Juan?" asked Jack of the man at the wheel, who spoke very good English. "Not many. There's only one as good, and that's much larger. She's the Tartar--and she's a beauty!" "For charter?" "Well, maybe. The same man owns her as owns this one, but only large parties engage her." "Fast and seaworthy?" "None better." "That's good," Jack said. "What are you thinking of?" asked his sister. "Tell you later," he announced briefly. "Oh, if it wasn't for the terrible news, how lovely this trip would be!" exclaimed Bess. They were gliding over the deep, blue waters of the bay, and the golden setting sun now shone aslant the harbor, pouring its beams over the tops of the distant mountains, and through the palm branches. A promise of fair weather followed on the wings of the storm. Whatever Senor Ramo might, or might not be, he certainly procured a welcome for our friends at the Boldero. Or, rather, the note Jack presented to the captain did. "Ah, yes, you desire news of the shipwrecked sailors. Well, they are still here on board. One of them is hurt, but the other can talk. But they speak no English--I had better translate for you." "First tell us what you know yourself, Captain," begged Cora. "I know little, except what I have heard, of the foundering of the Ramona," was the answer. "Then you think she did go down?" asked Bess. "I fear so--the sailors we picked up so affirm. All I can tell you is that, a day or so ago, as we were staggering along through the stress of the storm, the lookout sighted a small boat. No signs of life aboard were seen, but we stopped and picked it up. In the craft, which was one of the lifeboats from the Ramona, were two sailors, nearly dead from exposure, and one from hurts received." "How was he hurt?"' asked Jack. "He was shot, Senor." "Shot!" "Yes, it appears there was mutiny aboard the Ramona, as well as the horrors of the storm and shipwreck." "Mutiny!" murmured Cora, a look of horror in her eyes. "Poor, poor mother!" "You had better hear the story directly from the sailors," suggested Captain Ponchero. "I will summon the unwounded one. You will find that more satisfactory." He came, a sorry and unfortunate specimen of a Spanish sailor. There followed a rapid talk, in the Castilian tongue, between him and the captain, and the latter then said: "His story is this. They ran into the storm soon after leaving San Juan, and could not find, or, rather, did not dare to try, for the nearest harbor, as the seas were running too high to make it safe to go through the narrow entrance. They had to keep on, and this caused discontent among some of the crew. "There was an uprising--a mutiny, and some of them tried to leave in the boats. The brave captain would not let them, but he was overpowered, and the mutineers, in the face of certain danger, turned the ship to put back to a harbor which the captain had passed because of the danger of trying to enter it in the storm." "But how did the sailor get shot?" asked Jack. "He worked against the mutineers--he and his comrade here," the captain answered. "Then those who had revolted, and seized the ship, ordered into small boats all who would not throw in their lot with them. So these two, with only a little food and water, were put adrift in the storm. It was almost certain death, but the boat lived through it, and we saved them." "But what of the ship--the passengers?" asked Cora. "The ship most certainly foundered," declared the captain. "The next morning bits of wreckage were found by these two survivors." "Then all are lost?" half-sobbed Belle. "I fear so, Senorita," was the answer of the captain, "unless some few reached islands in small boats." "Is there a chance of that?" asked Jack. "A slight chance, yes, Senor." "Then it's a chance I'm going to take!" cried Jack. "What do you mean?" asked his sister, wonderingly. "I mean that we can go in search!" Jack went on, eagerly. "It's worth trying, isn't it, Walter?" "I should say so--yes, by all means! But what sort of a craft can we get to cruise in?" "I just heard of one!" said Jack, eagerly. "The Tartar. She's a big motor boat, and will be just the thing for us. I'm going to see about it right away. Who's with me for a cruise in the Tartar?" "I am!" came from Cora. "We're not going to be left behind," said Bess. "Count on me, of course," spoke Walter, quietly. "And, Senor Jack--may--may I go?" faltered Inez. "Of course!" "Senor--Senor Jack," she spoke in a tremulous whisper. "If you are successful--if you find ze lost ones, and we are near Sea Horse Island, would you leave me zere--wiz my father?" "Leave you there?" cried Jack. "We'll bring your father away from there, if we get the chance! Now come on! We have lots to do!" CHAPTER XVI SENOR RAMO MISSING Jack's eyes glowed with the brightness of renewed health, and determination, as he looked at his sister, at Bess and Belle, and at Walter. It was like old times, when the motor girls had proposed some novel or daring plan, and the boys had fallen in with it. This time it had been Jack's privilege to make the suggestion, and the others were only too ready to agree. "Oh, Jack, do you think we can do it?" asked Cora. "Of course we can!" her brother cried, with a growing, instead of lessening, enthusiasm. "We'll just have to do something, and I can't think of anything better to do--can you? than going off in search of the folks." "We simply must find them--if they're alive," spoke Bess, rather solemnly. "We'll find them--alive!" predicted Walter, joining his cheerful efforts to those of his college chum. "Oh, you Americans--you are so wonderful, so amazing!" whispered Inez. "I am so glad I am wiz you," and she divided her affectionate looks impartially between Jack and his sister. "What do you think of it, Captain?" asked Walter of the skipper of the steamship. "Is it possible to go about down among these islands in a big motor boat?" "Yes, if the boat be large enough, and seaworthy." "I'm thinking of the Tartar," said Jack. "I heard of her from the engineer of the boat we came out in just now." "Oh, the Tartar. Yes, she is a very fine boat, and quite safe, except in a very bad storm." "Oh!" gasped Bess. "But you are not likely to have bad blows now," the captain went on, "especially after this one we've just passed through. It is the last of the hurricane season, I hope. In fact, this was most unusual. Yes, I should say it would be very safe to make a cruise in the Tartar. I know the craft well." "And what are the chances of success?" asked Walter in a low voice of the commander, as Jack, with his sister and the Robinson twins withdrew a little apart to discuss the important question of the coming cruise. Captain Ponchero shrugged his shoulders in truly foreign fashion. "One cannot tell, Senor," he said in a low voice. "Certainly it is a dubious tale the sailors told--a tale of mutiny and shipwreck. But the sea is a strange place. Many unforeseen things happen on it and in it. I have seen shipwrecked ones come back from almost certain death, and again--" He hesitated. "Well?" asked Walter, a bit impatiently. "Might as well hear the worst with the best." "And again," resumed the captain, "I have seen what would appear to be the safest voyage result in terrible tragedy. So one who knows much of the sea, hesitates to speak with certainty about it. I should say, Senor, that the chance was worth taking." "Then we may find some of them alive?" "You may, and again--you may not. But it is worth trying. If you will come below with me, I will give you the exact longitude and latitude where we picked up the two sailors in the open boat. Then you can put for there, and make it the starting point of your search." "Good idea," commented Walter. By this time Jack and the others had finished their little discussion, and were eager to further question the captain concerning all the details he could give about the foundering of the Ramona. But there was little else that could be told. The sailors had given all the information they possessed. They repeated again how the ship had suddenly run into a storm, and how the refusal of the captain to put into a port, hard to navigate in a storm, brought on the mutiny. "But did they see any of our folks--either Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, or Mrs. Kimball?" asked Jack, while his sister and the twins hung breathless on the answer. The sailors had not especially noticed any passengers. They had been in hard enough straits themselves, not having joined the mutineers. "But they are certain the ship foundered? asked Cora. "There seems to be little doubt of it, Senorita," said the captain. "It was a fearful storm. We had three boats carried away, as well as part of our port rail." The weather was calm enough now, save for a heavy ground swell. The waters were marvelously blue, and overhead was the blue sky. Seen against the background of the wonderfully tinted hills of palms, the city of San Juan presented a most beautiful picture. "Well, let's get busy," suggested Jack, and it was only by keeping thus occupied, mentally and physically, that he and his sister, as well as the twins, were enabled not to succumb to the grief that racked them. Belle, rather more nervous and temperamental than her sister, did give way to a little hysterical crying spell, as they were on their way back to the marina from the steamer, but this was due merely to a reaction. "Don't, dear," said Cora, softly. "We'll find them, never fear!" She put her arms about her chum, and Inez slipped a slim brown hand into one of Belles. Then the wave of emotion passed, and the girl was herself again. "Are you going out for a long cruise?" asked Walter, "or shall you come back to San Juan from time to time? I ask, because I want to send word to my folks not to worry, if they don't hear from me very often." "I think we'll cruise as long as we can," said Cora, who had assumed as much of the burden of the search as had her brother. "If the Tartar is large enough to allow us to take a big enough supply--of provisions and stores, we'll cruise until we--well, until we find out for certain what has happened." Her voice faltered a little. "Oh, the Tartar's big enough, Senorita," said the engineer of the motor boat in which they were making their way to shore. "You could go for a long cruise in her." "Then we'll plan that," declared Jack. "Notify your folks accordingly, Wally." "I shall. But you'll have to have help along, if she's as big as all that, won't you?" "I suppose so," agreed Jack. "I'm not altogether up to the mark, if it comes to tinkering with a big, balky motor." "I'd like to go as engineer," said the man at the wheel. "I've often run her, and I know her ways. If you were to ask the owner, Senor Hendos, he'd let me go." The young people had taken a liking to Joe Alcandor, the obliging young engineer of the motor boat they had engaged to go out to the steamer, and Jack made up his mind, since he had to have help aboard the Tartar, to get this individual. "This is a strange ending to our happy holiday," said Cora, with a sigh, as they left the boat and walked up the steps at the water's edge of the marina. The outing, up to now, had been a most happy one, once Jack's improvement in health was noticed. "It hasn't ended yet," said Jack, significantly. "There's more ahead of us than behind us." "I hope more happiness," said Cora, softly. "Of course," whispered Jack. They told Joe they would see Senor Hendos, and arrange with him for chartering the Tartar. Then, in two hacks, they made their way back to the hotel. All of them were anxious to get started on the cruise that might mean so much. "Do you really mean you'll take me wiz you?" asked Inez, of Cora, as they entered the hotel. "Of course, my dear! I wouldn't think of leaving you," was the warm answer. "And we need you with us. Besides, you heard what Jack said about your father." "Oh, will he try to rescue him?" "I'm sure he will, if it's at all possible." Something of the news concerning the young Americans was soon current in the hotel, and Cora and her friends were favored with many strange glances, as they walked through the foyer. "We must thank Senor Ramo for his kindness in giving us the note to the captain,"' said Cora, ever thoughtful of the nice little courtesies of life. "Indeed we must," agreed Belle, who had quite recovered her composure, and, save for a suspicious redness of the eyes, showed little of the grief at her heart. Indeed, they were all rather stunned by the suddenness of the news, and only for the fact that under it lay a great hope, they would not have been able to hear up as well as they did. The blow was a terrible one--to think that their loved ones were lost in a shipwreck! But there was that merciful hope--that eternal hope, ever springing up to take away the bitterness of death or despair. There was, too, the necessity of work--hard work, if they were to go off on an unknown and uncertain cruise. And work is, perhaps, even better than hope, to mitigate grief. So, though the sorrow would have been a terrible one, and almost unbearable, were it not for the ray of light and hope, they were able to hold themselves well together--these young Americans in a strange land. "Jack, perhaps you had better go and thank Senor Ramo at once," suggested Cora. "He may be able to give you some good advice, too, about fitting up the Tartar for the cruise. He seems to know a great deal about these islands." "I'll see him at once," agreed her brother. "Just send up my card to him, please," he requested the hotel clerk. "To whom, Senor?" "To Mr. Ramo." "But he is not here--he is gone!" "Gone?" Jack looked at the clerk blankly. "Yes. He left, Senor, soon after you went away. He said business called him." "That is strange," murmured Jack. Inez, who had heard what was said, looked curiously at Cora, and then exclaimed: "Ze papairs--for my father's release!" A look of alarm showed in her face, as she hurried toward the stairway that led to her room. CHAPTER XVII OFF IN THE "TARTAR" "What's the matter?" asked Walter, quickly, as he saw Inez hurrying away. "She see alarmed about something." "She is--or fancies she is," answered Cora. "It's about those papers which she hopes will free her father of that political charge which keeps him locked up--poor man." "Did she lose them?" "No, but as soon as she heard that Senor Ramo had left suddenly, she associated it with the taking of her documents, evidently." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Walter. "That's what I say," added Cora. "But we mustn't make fun of Inez--she can't bear it." "Of course not. Besides, I guess none of us feel very much like making fun," went on Walter. "Our thanks to Senor Ramo will have to wait," said Jack, as he turned away from the hotel desk to rejoin his party. "And now let's get together, see what we have to take with us, and plan our cruise. I'll look up this man Hendos, who owns the Tartar, and see what arrangements I can make with him. Where's Inez?" "Gone to her room," answered Cora. "I fancy we'd all better get ready for dinner. It's getting late." They went up stairs, leaving the buzz of much talk behind them, for many of the hotel guests were speaking of the news concerning our friends. As Cora was entering her apartment, Inez came out into the corridor in front of her room. "Zey are gone, Senorita!" she gasped. "Gone!" "What?" asked Cora, half forgetting, in her own grief and anxiety, what the Spanish girl had gone to ascertain. "My papairs--for my father! Oh, Senorita, what shall I do?" "Gone?" echoed Cora. "Do you mean taken--stolen?" "I fear so--yes. See, my room has been entered." There was no doubt of it. A hasty glance showed Cora that, in the absence of Inez, her hotel room had been gone over quickly, but thoroughly. A small, empty valise, which Inez had trustingly hidden under the mattress of the bed lay on the floor, open. It had contained the papers which were so precious to her. Now they were gone--that was evident. "Oh, Inez!" cried Cora, and in such a voice that Jack, who was just coming along with Walter, hurried up, inquiring: "What is it? What's the matter?" "Those papers Inez had, have been stolen!" cried Cora. "And Senor Ramo is missing--has fled--" "Hold on!" exclaimed Jack, laying a cautioning finger on his sister's lips. "It won't do to make such rash statements, and draw such damaging conclusions--in such a loud voice, Sis," and he whispered the last words. "These walls are very thin, you know, and these Spanish gentlemen are very punctilious on points of honor. I don't want to be called on to fight a duel on your behalf." "Oh, Jack, how can you! Such a poor joke!" "Not a joke at all, I assure you. Now let's have the whole story--but in here," and Jack drew his sister and Inez into the room of the Spanish girl, Walter following. Bess and Belle had gone into their own apartments a little before, and had not heard, the talk. "Just in time," murmured Jack, as he closed the door, having a glimpse of a servant coming along the corridor. "Now, what is it, Inez?" and, after a quick glance about the ransacked apartment, he gazed at the girl. "My papairs--for my father--zey are gone!" With a tragic gesture she pointed to the opened valise. "Was your room this way when you came in?" asked Walter, who rather imagined he was gifted with amateur detective abilities. "Just like this--yes, Senor Jack." "Never mind the senor. Just plain Jack will do. And where were the papers?" "In the valise--in my bed. But they are gone." There was no doubt of that--also no doubt of the fact that Senor Ramo--the man who was suspected by Inez of being in the plot to keep her father in the political prison--was likewise missing. "Hum," mused Jack. "It may be merely a coincidence--or it may not." "I should say it was not!" declared Walter, positively. "And get into trouble saying it, Wally," remarked Jack. "No, the best thing to do in this case is to keep quiet about it." "But my papairs!" cried Inez. "My father--in prison. I must get him out." "Yes, and I think you can best do it by not letting it be known that you have discovered the theft," Jack said. "I think that's silly," declared Cora. "Whoever took those papers can't help but know, that their loss would be discovered at once. The condition the room was left in would make that certain. I can't see what good it is to keep quiet about it." "I'll explain," Jack went on. "The person who did the robbery of course knows he, or she, did it, and knows that we won't be long in finding it out. But the hotel people don't know it yet, nor the guests, and it's possible to keep it from them. They're the ones who will do the talking. Fortunately, the newspapers here aren't like those up home. There won't be any reporters after us, if we keep still." "But what's the advantage of it?" asked Cora. "To puzzle and alarm the thief," was Jack's answer. "No doubt he--for I'll assume for the sake of argument that it was a man--will be looking for a hue and cry. He'll expect it, and when it doesn't come, he'll begin to imagine all sort of things." "I see!" cried Walter. "He'll believe we are on his trail, have a clue and--" "Exactly!" interrupted Jack. "You're a regular 'deteckertiff,' Wally. That's my game, to puzzle the thief, make him think all sort of things, and so worry him by our very quietness, that he may betray himself." "Well, maybe that's the best plan," agreed Cora, rather doubtfully. "But how shall I get my papairs back?" asked Inez, falteringly. "Ze papairs are needed to get my poor father from prison." "Maybe not," said Jack, hopefully. "Anyhow, there are copies to be had, aren't there?" "Yes, but zese were ze originals. I need zem!" "And we'll get them back for you, if we can," broke in Jack. "We may be able to work without them, if we have a chance to get to Sea Horse Island on our cruise. I think our first duty is to try to find the missing ones." "Oh, of course, yes, Senor!" cried Inez, quickly. "I should not intrude my poor troubles on you." "Oh, that's all right," said Jack, good-naturedly. "We have a pretty big contract on our hands, and one trouble more or less isn't going to make much difference. Now don't forget--every body mum on this robbery. We'll puzzle the thief!" "Do you think it, was Ramo?" asked Cora. "I don't know. If he had any object in getting those papers we gave him the very chance he needed by all being away from the hotel," answered Jack. "And, if it wasn't he, it was some one else who has an object in keeping Mr. Ralcanto in jail. He'd have the same chance as Ramo had to get the documents. So the person we must look for is some one who really needed the papers. But, above all, we'll have to be cautious in making inquiries." "Yes," agreed Cora. "Could you find out when Ramo left, and if he was near this section of the hotel?" "I'll try," agreed Jack. "Now you girls begin to sort out the things you want to take along on the cruise. Cora, speak to Bess and Belle about it." "Why, aren't we going to take all our baggage?" "What! Fill the Tartar up with trunks full of fancy dresses, when we'll need every inch of room? I guess not! We'll all get down to light marching equipment. Just take what you can put in a suit-case. That's what Wally and I are going to do." "Oh, but boys are so different; aren't they, Inez?" "It matters not to me. A few things are all I have." The Spanish girl looked helplessly and almost hopelessly at the opened valise. And then, as Jack and Walter went out to and what they could learn by cautious questions, the two girls "tidied up" the room, and went to tell Bess and Belle the news. Jack and Walter could learn but little. Senor Ramo had departed suddenly, alleging a business call as an excuse for leaving the island on a steamer that sailed soon after the arrival of the one he had come in on. That was about all that could be safely learned. Little else could be done, now, toward making plans for the rescue of the father of Inez. When Mr. Robinson was located, he might have something to suggest, but now all energies must be bent on the rescue work. The news soon spread through the hotel that the "amazing Americans" were about to undertake a most desperate venture--that of cruising about in the blue waters of the Caribbean Sea, in search of their relatives who might have been able to save themselves from the wrecked ship. After a first glance at the map, and a consideration of the situation, Jack had voted for the inside, or Caribbean route, as being less likely to offer danger from storms. Satisfactory arrangements for chartering the Tartar were made, and the engineer, Joe Alcandor, was engaged to look after the machinery, which, on the Tartar, was not a little complicated. "With him along we can be more at ease," said Cora. "Yes, we won't always have to be worrying that one of the cylinders is missing, or that a new spark plug is needed," added Bess. "Oh, I do hope we can soon start!" sighed Belle. "This suspense is terrible!" Indeed, it was not easy for any of them, but perhaps Walter and Jack found it less irksome, for they were very busy preparing for the cruise. Plans were made to leave some of their baggage at the hotel in San Juan, and the rest would be taken with them. A goodly supply of provisions and stores were put aboard, and a complete account of the events leading up to the cruise, including the story of the missing Ralcanto papers, was written out and forwarded to Mr. Robinson's lawyers in New York. "That's in case of accident to us," said Jack. "Oh, don't speak of accidents!" cried Cora. The last arrangements were completed. Jack made final and guarded inquiries, concerning Ramo, but learned nothing. Then, one fine, sunny morning in December, the little party of motor girls and their friends, who had so often made motor boat trips on the lakes or streams of their own country, set off in the Tartar for a cruise on waters blue. "All aboard!" cried Jack, with an assumption of gaiety he did not feel. "Oh, I wonder what lies before us?" murmured Cora. "Courage, Senorita! Perhaps--happiness," said Inez, softly. CHAPTER XVIII THE SHARK Looking at a map of the West Indies, the reader, if he or she will take that little trouble, will see that the many islands lay in a sort of curved hook, extending from Cuba, the largest, down to Tobago, one of the smallest, just off Trinidad. In fact, Trinidad is a little off-set of the end of the hook, and, for the purpose of this illustration, need not be considered. The problem, then, that confronted the motor girls, and, no less, Jack and Walter, was to cruise in among these islands, in the hope of finding, on one of them, Mrs. Kimball, and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, who, by great good fortune, might have been able to save themselves from the wreck of the Ramona. Looking at the map again, which is the last time I shall trouble you to do so, the problem might not seem so hard, for there are not so many islands shown. The difficulty is that few maps show all of them, and even on the best of navigating maps there may be one or two that are not charted. The shipwrecked ones, providing they lived to get off on a life raft, or in a boat, might as likely have been driven to one of these little islands, as to a larger one. "But we can cut out a lot of them," said Jack, when they were in the cozy cabin of the Tartar, and he and his sister, with the others, were bending over the charts. "It's like this," Jack went on, pointing with a pencil to where Porto Rico was shown, in shape and proportion not unlike a building brick. "Our folks started for Guadeloupe--that's here," and he indicated the island which bears not a little resemblance to an hour-glass on the map. Guadeloupe, in fact, consists of two islands, separated by a narrow arm of the sea--Riviere Salee--which divides it by a channel of from one hundred to four hundred feet in width. "Whether they arrived is of course open to question," said Jack. "I'm inclined to think they didn't, or we'd have heard from them. The storm came before the ship got anywhere near there. Now, then, I think we shall have to look for them somewhere between Porto Rico and Guadeloupe." "Why not near St. Kitts?" asked Walter, covering with his finger the little island that is included in the discoveries of Columbus. "That's near where the two sailors were picked up," Walter went on. "Yes--I think we ought to go there," agreed Jack. "But it's only one of many possible places where our folks may be. It's going to be a long cruise, I'm afraid." "Where is Sea Horse Island?" asked Cora, as Inez flashed an appealing look at her. "Here," replied Jack, indicating a rather lonesome spot in the watery waste, where no other islands showed. "It's about half way between Guadeloupe and Aves, or Bird Island. Speaking sailor fashion, its latitude is about sixteen degrees north of the equator, and the longitude about sixty-two degrees, fifty-one minutes west." "Oh, don't!" begged Bess. "It reminds me of my school days. I never could tell the difference between latitude and longitude." "Well, there's where Sea Horse Island is," went on Jack, "and if all had gone well, Mr. Robinson hoped to gather orchids there. Now--?" he hesitated. "And do you think we'll touch near there, Jack?" asked his sister. "I'm going to try." "Oh, it is so good of you!" murmured Inez. "Perhaps we can save my father." "At any rate, they ought to allow you to see him," put in Walter. "Political prisoners aren't supposed to be kept in solitary confinement. We'll have a try at him, anyhow; eh, Jack?" "Sure. Well, that's our problem--to search among these islands, and I think we have the very boat to do it." Indeed the Tartar was just what they could have desired. It was a powerful motor boat, and had been in commission only a short time. It could weather a fairly big sea, or a heavy blow. It had a powerful motor, many comforts, and even some luxuries, including a bathroom. The engine was located forward, where there was a sleeping room for the engineer, who could steer from a small pilot house. Or the craft could also be guided from the after deck, which was open. There was a large enclosed space, variously divided into cabins and staterooms. A kitchen provided for ample meals, the cooking being done by the exhausted and heated gases from the motor, which also warmed the boat on the few days when the weather was rainy and chilly. When the motor was not running, a gasoline stove could be used. Adjoining the kitchen was the dining cabin, which had folding seats that could be used for berths when more than could be accommodated in the regular sleeping spaces were aboard. There were two other cabins, fitted with folding berths, and the smaller of these was apportioned to Jack and Walter, while the girls took possession of the larger one. In addition, there were ample lockers and spaces for storing away food, and the other things they had brought with them. A considerable supply of gasoline had to be carried, but there were several islands where more could be purchased. "Isn't it just the dearest boat!" murmured Belle, as she made a tour of it, and had peeped into the engine compartment. "It is," agreed her sister. "Oh, Cora, wouldn't you just fairly love to run that splendid motor?" "I would, if I didn't have to start it too often," replied Jack's sister, as she looked at the heavy flywheel, which was now moving about as noiselessly as a shaft of light. The propeller was not in clutch, however. "It has a self-starter," Joe informed the girls. "It's the smoothest engine ever handled. No trouble at all." "Better knock wood," suggested Jack. "Eh? Knock wood?" asked the engineer, evidently puzzled. "Oh, Jack means to do that to take away any bad luck that might follow your boast," laughed Cora. "Oh, I see. But I carry a charm," and Joe showed a queer black pebble. "I always have it with me." "One superstition isn't much worse than the other," said Bess, with a laugh. "Now let's get settled. Oh, Cora, did you bring any safety-pins? I meant to get a paper, but--" "I have them," interrupted Belle. "I fancy we won't have much time to sew buttons on--or room to do it, either," she added, as she squeezed herself into a corner of the tiny stateroom. Suitcases had been stowed away, the boys had gotten their possessions into what they called "ship-shape" order, and the Tartar was soon chugging her way over the blue waters of the bay. The route was to be around the eastern end of the island, taking the narrow channel between Porto Rico and Vieques, and thus into the Caribbean. St. Croix was to be their first stop, though they did not hope for much news from that Danish possession. "Why don't you boys do some fishing?" asked Cora, as she and the other girls came from their stateroom, where they had been putting their things to rights. "We won't have much but canned stuff to eat, if you don't," she went on, addressing Jack and Walter, who sat on the open after deck, under an awning that shaded them from the hot December sun. "That's so, we might," assented Jack. "A nice tarpon now wouldn't go bad." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Walter. "We haven't the outfit for tarpon fishing. If we get some red snappers, we'll be doing well." The boys had brought along a fishing outfit, one of the simple sort used in those waters, and as they baited their hooks, Jack said: "Well, maybe I haven't the rod to catch a tarpon, but I can rig up a line and hook that will do the business, maybe." Accordingly he picked out what Joe said was a regular shark hook, and, baiting it with a piece of canned meat, tossed it over the side, fastening the line to the rail. Then Jack forgot about it, for Walter had a bite almost as soon as he cast in, and the two boys were soon pulling in red snappers abundantly enough to insure several meals. "Why don't you try your hand line," suggested Cora, as she went to where it was tied to the rail. "May be you'll get-a bite, Jack." As she spoke, she felt on the heavy string, and, an instant later, uttered a cry, for it was jerked from her hand with such force as to skin her knuckles, and at the same time she cried: "Jack! Jack! You've hooked a big shark! Oh, what a monster!" CHAPTER XIX CRUISING DAYS There was a sudden rush to see the tiger of the deep, of which Cora had had a glimpse. Walter, who was at the wheel, cried to Joe to steer while he, too, ran to the rail. "I don't see him," said Bess, as she peered down into the deep, blue water. "You'll see him in a minute," was Cora's opinion. "He had just taken the hook, I think, and he didn't like it. He'll come into view pretty soon." Hardly had she spoken, than, while the others were looking at the line, which was now unreeling from a spool on which it was wound, the shark came suddenly to the surface, its big triangular fin appearing first. "There it is!" cried Cora. "See it, Bess!" "Oh, the monster! I don't want to look at the horrible thing!" screamed Bess, as she covered her eyes with her hands. The shark swam close to the motor boat, and then with a threshing of the water, and by wild leaps and bounds, sought to free himself from the sharp hook. But it had gone in too deep. "No, you don't, old chap," cried Jack, as he took hold of the slack of the line. He regretted it the next instant, for the shark darted away with a speed that made the tough string cut deep into Jack's palm. "Oh!" he murmured, as he sprang back from the rail. "Better be careful!" warned Joe. "They're mighty strong." "Oh, cut him loose!" urged Cora. "Do, Walter! We don't want him aboard here." "He'd be quite a curiosity," observed Jack's chum, as he helped Cora's brother tie a rag around his cut and bleeding hand. "We could sell the fins to the Chinese for soup, and you might have a fan made from the tail." "No, thank you! It's too horrible!" and Cora could not repress a shudder as the big fish, once more, made a leap partly out of the water, showing its immense size. "Whew!" whistled Walter, for this was the first good view he had had of the sea-tiger. "We never can get him aboard, Jack. Better do as Cora says, and let him go." "Oh, I didn't intend to have him as a pet," was the rueful answer of Jack. "I just wanted to see if I could catch one. I'm satisfied to let him go," and he looked down at his bandaged hand. "Too bad to lose all that good line," mused Walter, "but we probably won't want to do any more shark-fishing, so I'll cut it." "I've seen enough of sharks," murmured Belle, who, with Inez, had taken one glance, and then retreated to the cabin. "These aren't regular man-eating sharks," affirmed Jack, after Walter, with a blow from a heavy knife, had severed the line, letting the shark swim away with the hook. "Ah, but zey are, Senor!" exclaimed the Spanish girl. "You should hear the stories the natives tell of them." "But I saw a bigger one not far from the harbor," insisted Jack, "and it seemed almost tame." "They are, near harbors," explained Cora. "One of the ladies at the hotel explained about that. The harbor sharks live on what they get near shore, stuff thrown overboard from boats, and they grow very large and lazy. But, farther out to sea, they don't get so much to eat, and they'll take a hook and bait almost as soon as it's thrown into the water. The men sometimes go shark-fishing for sport." "It might be sport, under the right circumstances," said Jack, with a rueful laugh. "Next time I'll know better, than to, handle a shark line without gloves." "So shall I," agreed Cora, as she looked at her skinned knuckles. They had made a good catch of food fishes and the boys now proceeded to get these ready for their first meal aboard, the girls agreeing to cook them, and to set the table. The meal was rather a merry one, in spite of the grief that hung over the party--a grief occasioned by the fear of what might have befallen Mrs. Kimball, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. And yet, with all their sorrow, there was that never-failing ray of hope. Without it, the days would have been dismal indeed. Joe ran the boat while the others were eating, and presently he called into the dining compartment. "Cape San Juan!" was his announcement. "Have we sighted it?" asked Jack, referring to the north easternmost point of Porto Rico. "Just ahead of us," replied Joe, who was a skillful navigator of the West Indian waters. "You said you were going to change the course there." "Oh, yes. We'll round the cape and go south, I think," went on Jack. "A little more of that red snapper, Cora. Whoever cooked it knew how to do it," and he looked at Ben, while the others laughed. "What's the joke?" Jack demanded, as he ate on, seemingly unperturbed, though his cut hand made it rather awkward to handle his knife and fork. "Honor to whom honor is due," quoted Cora. "It was Inez who cooked the fish. It's in Spanish style." "Good!" exclaimed Jack, as he flashed another look at Bess, with whom he seemed to have some understanding. "Whatever style it is, I'm for it. I don't care whether it has gores down the side, and plaits up the middle, with frills around the ruffles, or whatever you call them--it's good." The others laughed, while Inez looked very much puzzled at Jack's juggling of dressmaking terms. "Is it zat I have put too much paprika on ze fith?" asked the Spanish girl. "No, Jack is just trying to be funny," explained Cora. "He thinks it's great--don't you, Jack?" "What, to be funny?" "No, to eat the fish," said Walter. There was more laughter. Little enough cause for it, perhaps, and yet there seemed to come a sudden relaxation of the strain under which they had all been laboring the last few days, and even a slight excuse for merriment was welcomed. So the meal went on, and a good one it was. The motor girls, from having gone on many outings, and from having done much camping, were able to cook to satisfy even the sea-ravenous appetites of two young men, although Jack was not exactly "up to the mark." Then, too, the novelty of shifting for themselves, after being used to the rather indolent luxury of a tropical hotel, made a welcome change to them. Joe had his meal after the others had finished, as it was necessary for some one to stay at the wheel, for the Tartar was slipping along through the blue water at a good rate of speed. Cape San Juan was rounded, and then the prow of the powerful motor boat was turned south, to navigate the often perilous passage between Porto Rico and Vieques. "Do you think we'll find any news at St. Croix?" asked Cora, of Jack, in a low voice, when, after the meal, they found themselves for the moment by themselves. "Hard to say, Sis," he answered. "I'm always living in hope, you know." "Yes, I suppose we must hope, Jack. And yet, when I think of all they may be suffering--starving, perhaps, on some uninhabited island, it--it makes me shiver," and Cora glanced apprehensively across the stretch of blue water as though she might, at any moment, sight the lonely isle that served as a refuge for her mother, and for Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. "Don't think about it," advised the practical Jack. "There are just as many chances that the folks have been picked up, and taken to some good island, as that they're on some bad one." By the course they had laid, it was rather more than a hundred miles from San Juan harbor to St. Croix, the Danish island, and as they were going to make a careful search, and husband their supply of gasoline as much as possible, they had set their average speed at ten miles an hour. "That will bring us to St. Croix early this evening," said Jack, for they had started in the morning. "We'll stay there all night, for I don't much fancy motoring after dark in unknown waters." "Neither do I," said Cora. "And then there are the sharks!" murmured Belle. "I won't let them get you!" said Walter, it such soothing tones as one might use to a child. "The bad sharks sha'n't get little Belle," and he pretended to slip an arm about her. "Stop it!" commanded the blonde twin, with a deep blush as she fairly squirmed out of reach. CHAPTER XX ANXIOUS NIGHTS Dusk had begun to settle over the harbor of Christianstad, or Bassin, as the capital of St. Croix is locally known, when the anchor of the Tartar was dropped into the mud. The boat had threaded its way through a rather treacherous channel, caused by the then shallow parts of the basin, and had come to rest not far from shore. "What's the program?" asked Walter, as the motor ceased its throbbing. "We'll go ashore," said Jack, "and see what news we can learn. I'm not very hopeful, but we may pick up something." "Back here to sleep?" Walter went on, questioningly. "Oh, sure. We want to start early in the morning. And from now on, we'll have plenty of stopping places, for there are many small islands where survivors from the wreck might have landed." "Is there anything to see here ashore?" asked Bess. "If there is, you might take us girls. We don't want to be left alone." "Well, I suppose it could be done," Jack assented. "Only we'll have to do it in two trips, for the small boat won't hold us all. Too risky, and there might be sharks here, Bess," and he made a motion toward the waters of the harbor. "Oh, how horrible!" she screamed. A small rowboat was carried as part of the equipment of the Tartar, but, at best, it could hold only four. However, the boys and girls were saved the necessity of making two trips from the motor boat to shore, for a large launch, the pilot of which scented business, put out to them from the landing wharf, and soon bargained to land them, and bring them off again when they desired to come. Joe would stay aboard the Tartar. The travelers found Christianstad to be a picturesque town, and in certain parts of it there were many old buildings. The Danish governor was "in residence" then, and affairs were rather more lively than usual. "What's that queer smell?" asked Cora, as they were on their way to the best hotel in the place, for there they intended making their inquiries. "Sugar factory," answered Jack. "It's about all the business done here--making sugar." "How'd you know?" asked Belle. "Oh, ask Little Willie whenever you want to know anything," laughed Jack. "Listen, my children! "St. Croix is twenty-two miles long, and from one to six miles in width. It is inhabited by whites and blacks, the former sugar planters, and the latter un-planters--that is, they gather the sugar cane. "St. Croix was discovered by Columbus in 1493, and at times the Dutch, British and Spanish owned it. In 1733 Denmark bought it, and has owned it since. The average temperature is--" "That'll do you!" interrupted Walter. "We can read a guide book as well as you can. Come again, Jack." "Well, I thought you'd be wanting to know something about it, so I primed myself," chuckled Jack. Curious eyes regarded our friends as they reached the hotel. Walter and Jack left the girls in the parlor while they, themselves, went to make inquiries at the office. And more curious were the looks, when it became known that Jack and the others were seeking traces of those wrecked on the Ramona. Curious looks, indeed, were about all the satisfaction that was had. For no news--not the most vague rumor--had come in regarding the ill-fated vessel. The wreck had not even been heard of, for news from the outside world sometimes filtered slowly to St. Croix. "Well, that's our first failure," announced Jack, as, with Walter, he rejoined the girls. "We must expect that. If we found them at our first call, it would be too much like a story in a book. We have a long search ahead of us, I'm thinking." "That's right," agreed Walter. "But, Jack, if this island is twenty-two miles long, might not the refugees have come ashore somewhere else than on this particular part of the coast?" "Yes, I suppose so. But, if they did, they'd know enough to make their way to civilization by this time. It's over a week since the hurricane." "I know. But suppose they couldn't make their way--if they were hurt, or something like that?" "That's so," was the hesitating answer. "Well, we might make a circuit of the island to-morrow." "Oh, let's do it--by all means!" exclaimed Cora, catching at any stray straw of hope. "We--we might find them--Jack!" "All right, Sis!" he agreed. "You look tired," she said to him, as they sat in a little refreshment room, for Walter had offered to "stand treat" to such as there was to be had. "I am a bit tuckered out," confessed Jack, putting his hand to his head. "It was quite a strain getting things ready for the start. But, now we're at sea, I'm going to take a good rest--that is, as much as I can, under the circumstances." "You mustn't overdo it," cautioned Cora. "Remember that we came down here for your health, but we didn't expect to have such a time of it. Poor little mother!" she sighed. "I wonder where she is to-night?" "I'd like to know," said Jack, softly, and again his hand went to his head with a puzzled sort of gesture. "Does it ache?" asked Cora, solicitously. "No, not exactly," answered Jack slowly, uncertainly. They finished their little refreshment, being, about the only stranger-guests at the hotel, and then went out to view what they could of the town by lamp-light. Some of the shops displayed wares that, under other circumstances, would have been attractive to the girls, but now they did not feel like purchasing. They were under too much of a strain. "Well, no news is good news," quoted Walter. Alas! how often has that been said as a last resort to buoy up a sinking hope. No one else spoke, as they made their way to the dock where the little ferry boat awaited them. "What's the matter, Jack?" asked Walter, as he sat beside his chum on the return trip. "Matter! What do you mean?" "You're so quiet." "He doesn't feel well," put In Cora. "Oh, I'm all right!" insisted Jack, with brotherly brusqueness. "Let me alone!" "Well, this place seems nice and cozy," commented Belle, as they reached the Tartar, and stepped into the cabin, which Joe had illuminated from the incandescents, operated by a storage battery when the motor was not whirling the magneto. "Yes, it is almost like home," said Bess, softly. Jack and Walter looked carefully to the anchor rope, for though the harbor was a safe one, there were muddy flats in places, and while there was no wind at present to drag them, it might spring up in the night. "Might as well turn in, I guess," suggested Jack, with a weary yawn. "Why--yes--old man--if you--feel that way about it!" mocked Walter, pretending to gape. "Oh, cut it out!" and Jack's voice was almost snarling. Cora looked at him in some surprise, and, catching Walter's eye, made him a signal not to take any notice. Walter nodded in acquiescence, and the incident passed. As an anchor light was hoisted, and as there was no need for any particular caution, no watch was kept, every one retiring by eleven o'clock. Often, when the young people had been on outings together, Cora and her girl friends had had a "giggling-spell" after retiring to their rooms. But now none of them felt like making fun. It was rather a solemn little party aboard the Tartar. The hope and plan of the young travelers to leave early in the morning, and make a circuit of the island, for a possible sight of the refugees, was not destined to be carried out. For somewhere around two o'clock, when bodily functions are said to be at their lowest ebb, Walter heard Jack calling to him. "I say, old man, I wish, you would come here. Something's the matter with me," came in a hoarse whisper. "Eh? What's that? Something the matter?" murmured Walter, sleepily. "Yes, I feel pretty rocky,", was Jack's answer. "Would you mind getting me a little of that nerve stuff the doctor put up for me? It might quiet me so I could go to sleep." "Great Scott, man! Haven't you been asleep yet?" "No," was Jack's miserable answer. "I've just been lying here on my back, staring up at the darkness, and now I'm seeing things." "Seeing things!" faltered Walter. "Yes, blue centipedes and red sharks. It's like the time I keeled over at college, you know." "Ugh!" half grunted Walter, with no very cheerful heart, for the prospect before him, if Jack were to be ill. Jack was far from well, when the lights were turned aglow, and Cora came in to see him. It seemed to be a return of his old malady, brought on by an excess of work and worry. There was little sleep for any of them the rest of the night, for Cora insisted upon sitting up to look after Jack, and Walter made himself up a bunk in the dining compartment, being ready on call. Toward morning Cora's brother sank into an uneasy slumber under the influence of a sedative, but he awoke at seven o'clock and seemed feverish. "We must have a doctor from the island," decided Cora, as she saw her brother's condition. "We can't take any chances." The Danish physician who came out in the boat heartened them up a little by saying it was merely a relapse, and that Jack would be much better after a few days' rest. "Just stay here with him, or anchor a little farther out," was his suggestion. "The sea breezes will be the best medicine for him. I can't give him any better. Just let him rest until he gets back his nerve." This advice they followed. But there were anxious nights, and for three of them Walter and Cora divided the task of sitting up with Jack. Joe generously offered to do his share, as did Bess, Belle and Inez, but Cora would not let them relieve her. So they lingered off the coast of St. Croix until the fever left Jack, departing from his weakened body, but making his mind at rest. Then he began to mend. CHAPTER XXI A STRANGE TALE "Well, Sis, I don't see what's to keep us here any longer. We might as well get under way again." "Do you really feel equal to it, Jack?" "Surely," and the heir of the Kimball family rose from the deck chair and stretched himself. The paleness of his cheeks for the past week was beginning to give way again to the faint glow of health. "Sorry to get myself knocked out in that fashion," apologized Jack. "You couldn't help it, old man," said Walter, sympathetically. "The rest has done you good, anyhow." "Yes, I guess I needed it," confessed Jack. "All my nerves seemed to be on the raw edge." There was no need for him to admit this, since it had been very evident since reaching St. Croix. The Danish physician had given good advice, and now Jack was even better than when he received the news of the foundering of the Ramona. The balmy sea breezes, the lack of necessity for any hard work, the ministrations of Cora, and, occasionally, the other girls, set Jack in a fair way to recovery. Inez Ralcanto made many dainty Spanish dishes for the invalid, from the stock of provisions aboard the Tartar, and with what she could get from the island. Nothing gave her more delight than to know that Jack had gone to the bottom of each receptacle in which she served her concoctions. "It is so good to see you smile again, Senor Jack," she said to him, as she looked at him, on deck. "And it's good to smile again, Inez," he said to her. "You'd better look out, Bess," warned Walter. "First thing you know, she'll cut you out." "Silly!" was all the answer Bess vouchsafed. But there was a tell-tale blush on her cheeks. The anchor of the Tartar was hoisted, and once more she sailed away, this time on the cruise about St. Croix. That it would result in any news of the lost ones being obtained no one really believed, but they felt that no chance, not even the slightest, should be overlooked. So they motored around the Danish island, stopping aft little bays or inlets where it seemed likely a raft or boat from a shipwrecked vessel might most likely put in. They found no traces, however, and what few natives they were able to converse with had heard of no refugees coming ashore. "Where next?" asked Walter, when they Had completed the circuit of St. Croix, and come to anchor once more off Christianstad, to lay aboard some supplies. "St. Kitts," decided Jack, who was again able to take his part in the councils. "At least we'll head for there, and stop at any little two-by-four islands we pick up on the way. Isn't that your opinion, Cora?" "Yes, Jack. Anything to find those for whom we are looking. Oh, I wonder if we shall ever find them?" "Of course!" said Jack quickly, but, even as he spoke, he wondered if he were not deceiving himself. For when all was said and done, it seemed such a remote hope--and might be so long deferred, as, not only to make the heart sick, but to stop it's beating altogether. It was such a very slender thread that the beads of hope were strung on--it was so easy to snap. And yet they hoped on! From St. Croix to St. Kitts is about one hundred and twenty miles, measured on the most accurate charts, and while it could have easily been made in a day's sail by the Tartar, it was decided not to try for any time limit, but to cruise back and forth in a rather zig-zag fashion. "For that's the only way we'll have of picking up any small islands that might possibly be uncharted," explained Jack. "Most of the coral reefs here are noted on the maps, but there's a bare chance that we might strike an unknown one, or an island, that would serve as a haven of refuge for shipwrecked ones." His friends agreed with him, and Joe said it was probably the best plan that could be adopted. So they were once more under way. It was near St. Kitts that the two sailors from the Ramona had been picked up, to tell their story of the stressful hurricane and mutiny. And, other things being equal, as Jack put it, it was near St. Kitts that some news might be expected to be had of those for whom the search was being made. As the capital, Basseterre, was a town of more than ten thousand population, it might reasonably be expected that some news of the foundering of the Ramona would be received there. It was in that vicinity, as was evident from the rescue of the two sailors, that the ship had been torn by the wind and waves. A week was occupied in making the journey to St. Kitts from St. Croix, a week of cruising back and forth, and of stopping at many mere dots of islands. Some of these were seen at once to be not worth searching, since their entire extent could almost be seen at a single glance. They were merely collections of coral rocks, submerged at high water. Others were larger, and these were visited in the small boat which the Tartar carried with her. It was on some of these trips, over comparatively shallow water, that the beauties and mysteries of the ocean bottom were made plain to our friends. Joe, the engineer, made for them a "water glass," by the simple process of knocking the bottom out of a pail, and putting in puttied glass, instead. This, when put into the water, glass side somewhat below the surface, enabled one to see with startling clearness the bottom of the ocean, in depths from seventy-five to one hundred feet. Most wonderful was the sight. "Why, it looks like a forest, or a wonderful green-house down there," said Cora, after her first view. "Those are the coral and the sponges," explained Joe. Our friends were surprised to see that coral, instead of being stiff and hard, as it had seemed to them when they handled specimens of it on land, was, under the water, as graceful and waving as the leaves of palm trees in a gentle wind. The ocean currents waved and undulated, it, until it seemed alive. Branch coral they saw, like miniature trees, and great "fans," some nearly ten feet across. Then there were great rocks of the coral-living rocks, formed of millions and millions of the bodies of the polyps, insects who build up such marvelous formations. Sponges there were, too, though not in great enough abundance to warrant the sponge-gathering fleets coming to this section. Through the water glass, our friends could see fish swimming around under the water, darting here and there between the waving coral and under the growing sponges. It was all very wonderful and beautiful, but it is doubtful if any of the young people really appreciated it as they might have done, had their hearts been lighter. Inez did not care to look at the sea sights, for she said she had seen them too often as a child in the islands. In spite of her anxiety concerning her father und his possible fate, she did not obtrude her desires on her friends. She seldom spoke of the hope she had of going to Sea Horse Island, either to help rescue her father, or to learn some news of him, so that others might set him free. "But we'll go there, just the same!" Jack had said. "And if we can get him out of prison, we will. There must be some sort of authority there to appeal to." "You are very lucky, Senor Jack," whispered Inez, with a grateful look. "Nonsense!" exclaimed Jack, who did not like praise. They reached St. Kitts, or St. Christopher, as it is often called, from the immortal Columbus who found it in 1493, when he did so much to bring unknown lands to notice. "Now we'll see what sort of luck we'll have," spoke Walter. They anchored off Basseterre, and, going ashore, had little difficulty in confirming the story of the two shipwrecked sailors being picked up. That much as current news, since another vessel than the Boldero had been near, when the latter's captain stopped for the two unfortunates. That was all that really was learned, save that some fishing boats, later, had seen pieces of wreckage. Diligent inquiry in Old Road, and Sandy Point, the two other principal towns, failed to gain further information, and our friends were considering continuing their cruise, when, most unexpectedly, they heard a curious tale that set them, eventually, on the right course. They were coming down to the dock, one evening to take a boat out to their own craft, when an aged colored man, who spoke fairly good English, accosted them. At first Jack took him for a beggar, and gruffly ordered him away, but the fellow insisted. "I've got news for you, boss," he said, with a curious British cockney accent. "You lookin' for shipwrecked parties, ain't you?" "Yes," said Jack, a bit shortly. But that was common news. "Well, there's an island about fifty miles from here," the black went on, "and there's somethin' bloomin' stringe about it;" for so he pronounced "strange." "Strange--what do you mean?" asked Walter. "Just what I says, boss, stringe. If you was to say it'd be worth arf a crown now--" "Oh, I haven't time to bother with curiosities!" exclaimed Jack, impatiently. "Let us hear his story, Jack," insisted Cora. "What is it?" she asked, giving him a coin, though not as much as he had asked for. "'Thank ye kindly, Miss. It's this way," said, the colored Englishman. "I works on a fishin' boat, and a few days ago, comin' back, we sighted this island. We needed water, and we went ashore to get it, but--well, we comes away without it." "Why was that?" asked Walter, curiously. "Because, boss, there's a strange creature on that island, that's what there is," said the negro. "He scared all of us stiff. He was all in rage and titters, and when he found we was sheering off, without coming ashore, he went wild, and flung his cap at us. It floated off shore, and I picked it up, bein' on that side of the boat." "But how does this concern us?" asked Jack, rousing a little. "I could show you that cap, boss," the Negro went on. "I've got it here. It's dark, but maybe you can make out the letters on it. I can't read very good." Jack held the cap up in the gleam of a light on the water-front. His startled eyes saw a cap, such as sailors wear, while in faded gilt letters on the band was the name: "RAMONA." CHAPTER XXII THE LONELY ISLAND Walter, looking over Jack's shoulder, rubbed his eyes as though to clear them from a mist, and then, as he saw the faded gilt letters, he closed both eyes, opening them again quickly to make sure of a perfect vision. "Jack!" he murmured. "Do I really see it?" "I--I guess so," was the faltering answer. "Cora, look here!" The girls, who had drawn a little aside at the close approach of the negro, came up by twos, Cora and Belle walking together. "What is it?" asked Jack's sister, thinking perhaps the man had made a second charity appeal to her brother, and that he wanted her advice on it. "Look," said Jack simply, and he extended the cap. As Walter had done, Cora was at first unable to believe the word she saw there. "The--Ramona," she faltered. "The steamer mother and father sailed on?" asked Belle, her face pale in the lamp-light. "The same name, at any rate," remarked Walter, in a low voice. "And there would hardly be two alike in these waters." "But what does it mean? Where did he get the cap?" asked Cora, her voice rising with her excitement. "Tell me, Jack!" "He says it was flung to him by some sort of an insane sailor, I take it, on a lonely island." "That's it, Missie," broke in the man, his tone sufficiently respectful. "Me and my mates, as I was tellin' the boss here," and he nodded at Jack, "started to fill our water casks, but we didn't stay to do it arter we saw this chap. Fair a wild man, I'd call 'im, Missie. That's what I would. Fair a wild man!" "And he flung you this cap?" "That's what he done, Missie. Chucked it right into the tea, Missie, jest like it didn't cost nothin', and it was a good cap once." It was not now, whatever it had been, for it bore evidence of long sea immersion, and the band had been broken and cracked by the manner in which the negro fisherman had crammed it into his pocket. "Jack!" exclaimed Cora, in a strangely agitated voice. "We must hear more of this story. It may be--it may be a clue!" "That's what I'm thinking." A little knot of idlers had gathered at seeing the negro talking to the group of white 'young people, and Walter and Jack, exchanging glances mutually decided that the rest of the affair might better be concluded in seclusion. Jack gave the negro a hasty but comprehensive glance. "Shall we take him aboard, Cora?" he asked his sister. Jack was very willing to defer to Cora's opinion, for he had, more than once, found her judgment sound. And, in a great measure, this was her affair, since she had been invited first by the Robinsons, and Jack himself was only a sort accidental after-thought. "I think it would be better to take him to the Tartar," Cora said. "We can question him there, and, if necessary, we can--" She hesitated, and Jack asked: "Well, what? Go on!" "No, I want to think about it first," she made reply. "Wait until we girls hear his story." "Will you come to our motor boat?" asked Jack of the sailor, who said he was known by the name of Slim Jim, which indeed, as far as his physical characteristics were concerned, fitted him perfectly. He was indeed slim, though of rather a pleasant cast of features. "Sure, boss, I'll go," he answered. "Of course I might git a job by hangin' around here, but--" "Oh, we'll pay you for your time--you won't lose anything." Jack interrupted. Indeed the man had, from the first, it seemed, accosted him with the idea of getting a little "spare-change" for, like most of the negro population of the Antilles, he was very poor. "But what's it all about?" asked Bess, who had not heard all the talk, and who, in consequence, had not followed the significance of the encounter. "Zey have found a man, who says a sailor on some island near here, wore a cap with ze name of your mozer's steamer," put in Inez, who, with the quickness of her race, had gathered those important facts. "Oh!" gasped Bess. "Don't build too much on it," interposed Jack. "It may be only a sailor's yarn." "It's all true, what I'm tellin' you, boss!" exclaimed the negro. "Oh, I don't doubt your word," said Jack, quickly. "But let's get aboard the boat before we talk any further." Aboard the Tartar, seated in her cozy cabin, the story of Slim Jim seemed to take on added significance. He told it, too, with a due regard for its importance--especially to him--in the matter of what money it might bring to him. In brief, his "yarn" was about as I have indicated, in the brief talk with Jack. Jim and his mates had been on a protracted fishing trip, and had run short of water. One of the number knew of a lonely and uninhabited island near where they were then cruising--an island that contained a spring of good water. They were headed for the place, but when they were about to land, they had been alarmed by the appearance of what at first was supposed to be some wild beast. "He crawled on all fours, Missie," said Slim Jim, addressing Cora with such earnestness that she could not repress a shiver. "He crawled on all fours like some bloomin' beastie, begging your pardon, Missie. We was all fair scared, an' sheered orf." "Then how did you get the cap?" asked Walter. "He chucked the blessed cap to us, sir!" Jim appeared to have a different appellation for each member of the party. "Chucked it right into the water, sir. I picked it up." "What else did he do?" asked Cora. "He behaved somethin' queer, Missie. Runnin' up and down, not on four legs--meanin' his hands, Missie--and now on two. Fair nutty I'd call him." "Poor fellow," murmured Bess. "And is that all that happened?" demanded Walter. "Well, about all, sir. I picked up the cap, and we rowed away. We thought we'd better go dry, sir, in the manner of speakin', instead of facin' that chap. He was fair crazy, sir." "Did he look like a sailor?" Jack wanted to know. "Well, no, boss, you couldn't rightly say so, boss. He took on somethin' terrible when we sheered off an' left 'im." "And that's all?" inquired Belle, in a low voice. "Yes--er--little lady," answered Slim Jim, finding a new title for fair Belle. "That's all, little lady, 'cept that I kept th' cap, not thinkin' much about it, until I heard you gentlemen inquirin' for news of the Ramona. I heard some one spell out that there name in these letters for me," and he indicated the name on the cap. "Then I spoke to you, boss." "Yes, and I'm glad you did," said Jack. "'Why?" began Cora. "Do you think--" "I think it's barely possible that one of the sailors from the Ramona is marooned on that lonely island," interrupted Jack. "He may be the only one, or there may be more. We'll have to find out. Can you take us to this island?" he asked Slim Jim. "The lonely island?" "Yes." "I rackon so, boss, if you was to hire me, in the manner of speakin'" "Of course." "Then I'll go." "Off for the lonely, isle," murmured Coral softly. "I wonder what we'll find there?" CHAPTER XXIII THE LONELY SAILOR Once more the Tartar was off on her strange cruise. This time she carried an added passenger, or, rather a second member of the crew, for Slim Jim bunked with Joe, and was made assistant engineer, since the negro proved to know something of gasoline motors. After hearing the story told by the colored fisherman, and confirming it by inquiries in St. Kitts, Jack, Cora and the others decided that there was but one thing to do. That was to head at once for the lonely island where the sailor, probably maddened by his loneliness and hardship, was marooned. As to the location of the island, Slim Jim could give a fair idea as to where it rose sullenly from the sea, a mass of coral rock, with a little vegetation. The truth of this was also established by cautious inquiries before the Tartar tripped her anchor. Lonely Island, as they called it, was about a day's run from St. Kitts in fair weather, and now, though the weather had taken a little turn, as though indicating another storm, it was fair enough to warrant the try. More gasoline was put aboard, with additional stores, for Slim Jim, in spite of his attenuation, was a hearty eater. Then they were on their way. Aside from a slight excitement caused when Walter hooked a big fish, and was nearly taken overboard by it--being in fact pulled back just in time by Bess, little of moment occurred on the trip to Lonely Island. Toward evening, after a day's hard pushing of the Tartar, Slim Jim, who had taken his position in the bows, called out: "There she lies, boss!" "Lonely Island?" asked Jack. "That's her." "Since you've been there, where had we better anchor?" asked Joe, with a due regard for the craft he was piloting. "Around on the other side is a good bay, with deep enough water and good holding ground," said the negro. "If it comes on to blow, an' it looks as if it might, we'll ride easy there." Accordingly, they passed by the place where the negro fishermen had been frightened away with their empty water casks, and made for the other side of the island. Recalling the story of the queer and probably crazed man, Jack and the others, including Slim Jim, gazed eagerly for a sight of him. But the island seemed deserted and lonely. "What if he shouldn't be there?" whispered Belle to Cora. "Don't suggest it, my dear. It's the best chance we've yet had of finding them, and it mustn't fail--it simply mustn't!" It was very quiet in the little bay where they dropped anchor, though a flock of birds, with harsh cries, flew from the palm trees at the sound of the "mud hook" splashing into the water. "Now for the sailor!" exclaimed Walter. "Hush! He'll hear you," cautioned Belle. "Well, we want him to, don't we?" and he smiled at her. Eagerly they gazed toward shore, but there was no sign of a human being around there. Lonely indeed was the little island in the midst of that blue sea, over which the setting sun cast golden shadows. "Are you going ashore?" asked Walter of Jack, in a low voice. Somehow it seemed necessary to speak in hushed tones in that silent place. "Indeed we're not--until morning!" put in Cora. "And don't you boys dare go and leave us alone," and she grasped her brother's arm in a determined clasp. "I guess it will be better to wait until morning," agreed Jack. Supper--or dinner, as you prefer--was served aboard, and then the searchers sat about and talked of the strange turn of events, while Jim and Joe, in the motor compartment, tinkered with the engine, which had not been running as smoothly, of late, as could be desired. "I hope it doesn't go back on us," remarked Jack, half dubiously. "Don't suggest such a thing," exclaimed his sister. They agreed to go ashore in the morning, and search for the marooned sailor supposed to be on Lonely Island. The night passed quietly, though there were strange noises from the direction of the island. Jack, and the others aboard the Tartar, which swung at anchor in the little coral encircled lagoon, said they were the noises of birds in the palm trees. But Slim Jim shook his head. "That crazy sailor makes queer noises," he said. "If he's there," suggested Walter. In the morning they found him, after a short search. It was not at all difficult, for they came upon the unfortunate man in a clump of trees, under which he was huddled, eating something in almost animal fashion. With Jack and Walter in the lead, the girls behind them, and Joe and Jim in the rear, they had set off on their man-hunt. They had not gone far from the shore before an agitation in the bushes just ahead of them attracted the attention of the two boys. "Did you see something?" asked Walter. "Something--yes," admitted Jack. "A bird, I think." "But I didn't hear the flutter of wings." "I don't know as to that. Anyhow, there are birds enough here. Come on." They glanced back to where Bess had stopped to look at a beautiful orchid, in shape itself not unlike some bird of most brilliant plumage. "Oh, if father could only see that!" she sighed. "It is too beautiful to pick." Cora and her chums closed up to the boys, and then, as they made their way down a little grassy hill, into a sort of glade, Cora uttered a sudden and startled cry. "Look!" she gasped, clutching Jack's arm in such a grip that he winced. "Where?" he asked. "Right under those trees." And there they saw him--the lonely sailor, crouched down, eating something as--yes, as a dog might eat it! So far had he fallen back to the original scale--if ever there was one. Some one of the party trod on a stick, that broke with a loud snap-almost like a rifle shot in that stillness. The lone sailor looked up, startled, as a dog might, when disturbed at gnawing a bone. Then he remained as still and quiet as some stone. "That's him," said the negro sailor, and though he meant to speak softly, his voice seemed fairly to boom out. At the sound of it, the hermit was galvanized into life. He dropped what he had been eating, and slowly rose from his crouching attitude. Then he turned slowly, so as to face the group of intruders on his island fastness. He seemed to fear they would vanish, if he moved too suddenly--vanish as the figment of some dream. "Poor fellow," murmured Cora. "Speak to him, Jack. Say something." "I'm afraid of' frightening him more. Wait until he wakes up a bit." "He does act like some one just disturbed from a sleep," spoke Walter. "Maybe you girls--" "Oh, we're not afraid," put in Bess, quickly. Not with all this protection, and she looked from the boys to the two sturdy men. Now the lonely sailor was moving more quickly. He straightened up, more like the likeness and image of man as he was created, and took a step forward. Finding, evidently, that this did not dissipate the images, he passed his hand in front of his face, as though brushing away unseen cobwebs. Then he fairly ran toward the group. "Look out!" warned Joe. But there was nothing to fear. When yet a little distance off, the man fell on his knees, and, holding up his hands, in an attitude of supplication cried out in a hoarse voice: "Don't say you're not real. Oh, dear God, don't let 'em say that! Don't let 'em be visions of a dream! Don't, dear God!" "Oh, speak to him, Jack!" begged Cora. "He thinks it's a vision. Tell him we are real--that we've come to take him away--to find out about our own dear ones--speak to him!" There was no need. Her own clear voice had carried to the lonely sailor, and had told him what he wanted to know. "They speak! I hear them! They are real. And now, dear God, don't let them go away!" he pleaded. "We're not going away!" Jack called. "At least not until we help you--if we can. Come over here and tell us all about it. Are you from the Ramona?" "The Ramona, yes. But if--if you're from her--if you've come to take me back to her, I'm not going! I'd rather die first. I won't go back! I won't be a pirate! You sha'n't make me! I'll stay here and die first." CHAPTER XXIV THE REVENUE CUTTER The story told by Ben Wrensch--for such proved to be the name of the lonely sailor-cannot be set down as he told it. In the first place, there was little of chronological order about it, and in the second place he was interrupted so often by Cora, or one of the others, asking questions, or he interrupted himself so frequently, that it would be but a disjointed narrative at best. So, I have seen fit to abridge it, and tell it in my own. As a matter of fact, the questions Cora, her girl chums, or the boys asked, only tended to throw more light on the strange affair, whereas the interruptions of Ben himself were more dramatic. He was so afraid that it was all a dream that, he would awaken from it only to find himself alone again. "But you are real, aren't you, now?" he would ask, pathetically. "Of course," said Cora, with a gentle smile. "And you won't go away and leave me, as the others did?" he begged, but he did not couple Slim Jim with one of those. In fact, he did not pay much attention to the negro, for which Jim, a rather superstitious chap, was very grateful. "Certainly we won't leave you here," Jack said. "We'll take you wherever you want to go, Ben." "That's good. Well, as I was saying--" and then he would resume his interrupted narrative. So, instead of telling his "yarn" in that fashion, I have sought to save your time and interest by condensing it. Up to the time of the hurricane, which caught the Ramona in rather a bad stretch of water, there was nothing that need be set down. The vessel bearing the mother of Jack and Cora, and the parents of the Robinson twins, had gone on her way, until the sudden bursting of the storm, with unusual tropical fury, had thrown the seas against and over the craft with smashing fury. Boats and parts of the railing and netting, had been carried away, and one or two sailors washed overboard. Then had come the mutiny, if such it could be called--an uprising of some of the sailors, driven to almost insane anger because of the refusal of the captain to put into a port, the harbor of which could not be made in such a sea as was running, nor in the teeth of such furious wind. The only thing to do was to scud before the gale, with the engines and crew doing what they could. There had been an incipient panic, and a rush for the boats quelled hardly in time, for some had been lowered, and swamped and others had gotten away. There was an exchange of shots between the captain and some of the mutineers, and, as our friends knew, one sailor, at least, was wounded, though whether by the captain or by the mutineers was uncertain. Ben Wrensch, who appeared of better character than the usual run of West Indian sailors, had his share in the mutiny--that is, he refused to take sides with the small part of the crew who berated the captain for something he could not do. He had sided with the small part of the crew who remained loyal. "And what did they do to you?" asked Jack. For the man had come to a pause, after describing how many shouted that the ship was foundering. "The rascals drove me and some of the other to a boat, and lowered us away," was the answer. "They said they didn't want us aboard. I guess they was afraid we'd give evidence against them, if we ever got the chance, and so I would." "And did you land here?" asked Cora, indicating the lonely isle. "Not at first, Miss. We tossed about in the boat and the sea got higher and the wind stronger. And how it did rain! It seemed to beat right through your skin. The rain helped to keep the seas down, but not much. It was fearful!" He then went on to tell how, after laboring hard in the darkness of the night, the boat he was in (five other sailors being his companions) was swamped by a huge wave. He was tossed into the sea, and must have been rendered unconscious by a blow on the head, for he remembered nothing more until he found himself being washed back and forth on the beach by the waves, and at last had understanding and strength enough to crawl up beyond the reach of the water. So he had come to Lonely Island. And there he had existed ever since. Some few things--including the cap that had been of such value to our friends--had been washed ashore from the boat, or otherwise Ben might have starved at first, for he was too weak to hunt for food. Gradually he regained the power to help himself. He found mussels clinging to the rocks, he gathered some turtles eggs, and was lucky enough to kill a bird with a stone. On such food he lived. For shelter he made himself a hut of bark and vines, and so the days passed in loneliness. It had not taken him long to find that he was the only inhabitant of Lonely Island. He alone, of the company in the boat, had come ashore to be saved. Of the time he spent on the island you would not be interested to hear. One day was like another, save as he had better or worse luck in providing food. His great anxiety was to be taken off and to this end he made a signal, but it was a small one, and it is doubtful it would ever have been seen. Gradually his hardships, his exposure and the loneliness preyed on him until he was well-nigh insane. He became almost like an animal in his fight against nature. He was on the verge of madness when he saw the boat load of fishermen approaching for water, and it was his queer actions that drove them off. In his despair he threw his cap at them, the most fortunate thing he could have done. "And now you come to me!" he said, simply. "Yes, we're here," admitted Jack. "But can you give us any more news of the Ramona? That is what we want to know. Which way was she headed when you were forced to leave her? Have you any idea where she is now?" "She was headed southeast," was the answer. "And how long would you say she could keep afloat?" Walter wanted to know. "She ought to be afloat now!" was the startling reply. "Now!" cried Jack. "What do you mean?" "Why, she was in no danger of sinking," Ben went on, and Cora and the girls felt new hope springing up in their hearts. "Are you sure of this?" demanded Jack. "Very sure; yes. I was below just before I was forced into the small boat, and there wasn't a plate sprung. The engines were in good order and if the mutineers hadn't raised a hue and cry, everything would have been all right. But they wanted their way, for their own ends, I fancy." "Meaning what?" asked Jack. "That they were glad of any excuse to seize the ship. I overheard some of their plans. They would have done it, storm or no storm. There was a plot to take the Ramona, put off all who would be in the way, take her to some port, change her name and engage her in what amounted to piracy." "The plotters were going to do this?" cried Walter, aghast. "Yes, and the storm only egged them on. It was their opportunity." "Then the Ramona may be afloat now?" demanded Cora. "She very likely is, Miss, I should say. A little damaged perhaps, but not more than could be." "And what of the passengers?" asked Bess. "Well, they're either aboard her, as prisoners, or have thrown their lot in with the mutineers, or--" He did not go on. "Well?" asked Jack, grimly. "Or they were put adrift, as I was," went on Ben. "But you did not see that happen?" asked Cora, for the story was nearing its end now. "No, Miss, I didn't see that. When I was put overboard, all the passengers--and there weren't many of them--were still aboard." "Did you see any of them?" asked Bess. "Oh, yes, Miss. All of 'em, I fancy." "My father and mother--" Ben described, as well as he could, the various characteristics and appearances of the Ramona's passengers, and Mrs. Kimball and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson were easily recognized. "Then we must still keep on searching for them," decided Jack, at the conclusion of the narrative. "We'll just have to keep on!" "It looks so," admitted Cora. "Oh, we mustn't think of giving up!" cried Bess. "I know my father. He just wouldn't give in to those horrid mutineers, and he wouldn't throw in his fortunes with them, either. I can't explain it, but, somehow I feel more hopeful than at any time yet, that they are all right--Papa and Mamma, and your mother, too, Cora." "I am glad you think so, dear. I haven't given up either. But let's get away from here, Jack." "That's what I say!" murmured Belle, with a little nervous shiver. "This place gives me such a creepy feeling." "You might well say so, Miss," put in Ben. "That is, if you had to stay here all along, as I did, with nothing but them parrot birds screeching at you all day long. It was awful!" There was no use in staying longer on Lonely Island, and Ben Wrensch was only too glad to be taken from it. At first the motor girls talked of taking him with them, on the remainder of the cruise, but, as Jack pointed out, there was no need of this. He could give no further information as to the location of the Ramona, providing the steamer still was afloat. And he would only be an added, and comparatively useless, passenger. He was not exactly the sort of personage one would desire in the rather cramped quarters of the Tartar, though he was kind and obliging. He would be better off ashore, for the time being, where he could get medical treatment. So the big motor boat swept out of the blue lagoon, and headed for St. Kitts, for it was planned to leave Ben, and once more take up the search. They had not been under way more than an hour, however, before Jack, who was steering, uttered a cry. "There's a boat cording toward us!" he said. "She seems to be a small launch." "Yes, and she's signaling to us!" added Walter. "She wants to speak with us!" Joe came up from the motor room, and looked long and earnestly at the approaching craft. "That's an English revenue cutter," he said, "and she's in a hurry, too." "I wonder what she can want with us," mused Jack, as he ordered a signal to be run up on the small mast, indicating that they would speak to the approaching craft. CHAPTER XXV NEWS OF THE "RAMONA" Over the slowly heaving swell of the blue waters the swift revenue cutter came on. Those aboard the Tartar watched her with eager eyes. Did she have some news for them? This was the question in the mind of the motor girls. "Oh, perhaps they have mother aboard!" breathed Cora, her hopes running thus high. "And they might have our mother and father!" added Bess, taking bold heart as she heard Cora speak. Inez said nothing. It was too much for her to dare to think that her father might be released from his political prison. She could only wait and hope. "Some speed to her," observed Jack, admiringly, as he watched the white foam piled up in front of the bow of the oncoming craft. "But she's not very big," spoke Walter. "She's built for speed," remarked Engineer Joe. "She doesn't usually come out this far to sea; just hangs around the harbors, and tries to catch small smugglers. She couldn't stand much of a blow, and it's my opinion we're going to get one." "Oh, I hope not soon!" exclaimed Cora, with a little nervous glance up at the sky. "Well, within a day or so," went on Joe. "It's making up for a storm all right, and I guess that cutter is trying to get her job done--whatever it is--and scoot back into harbor." "But why should she want to speak to us?" asked Bess. "Of course it's interesting, and all that--almost like a story, in fact--but what does she want?" "Tell you better when she gets here," said Walter with a laugh. "Perhaps there are some ladies aboard, and they want to learn the latest styles from the United States-seeing how recently you girls came from there." "Silly!" murmured Belle, but it was noticed that she glanced at her brown linen dress, relieved with little touches of flame-colored velvet here and there--in which costume she made a most attractive picture. At least, Walter thought so. "Perhaps zey are in search of him," suggested Inez, pointing to Sailor Ben, who was lying on a coil of rope in the bow. "That's right!" exclaimed Jack, with a look of admiration at the Spanish girl. "They may have heard a story of his being on the island, and come out to rescue him. They could tell we came from that direction." "It's possible," admitted Walter. Whoever was in charge of the revenue cutter, seeing that their signals to speak the Tartar had been observed and answered, cut down the speed somewhat, so that the government vessel came on more slowly. In a short time, however, she was near enough for a hail, through a megaphone, to be heard. "What boat is that?" was the demand. "The Tartar, from San Juan," was Jack's reply. "Where bound?" "It's too long a story to yell this way," was Jack's answer. "Shall we come aboard?" "No, I'll send a boat," came back. Presently a small boat, containing three men, was lowered, for the sea was very smooth, and in a little while a trim-looking lieutenant was at the accommodation ladder of the Tartar. "Why, it's just like a play!" murmured Bess, as she saw the sword at the officer's side. "I wonder if he's going to put us all under arrest?" "Would you mind?" asked Cora. "I don't know. He has nice eyes, hasn't he?" "Hopeless!" sighed. Cora, with a little smile at her chum. A quick glance on the part of the lieutenant seemed to give him an idea of the nature of the cruise of the Tartar. "Oh! a pleasure party!" he exclaimed. "I am sorry we had to stop you, but--" "That's all right," said Cora, for she thought it would be less embarrassing if one of the feminine members gave some assurance. "It doesn't happen to be a pleasure trip." "No? You astonish me, really! I should say--" His eyes caught sight of the ragged and un-kempt figure of the marooned sailor. "Has there been a wreck? Did you save some one?" the lieutenant asked, quickly. His practiced eye told him at once that some tragedy had occurred. "Something like that--yes," Cora assented. "But the rescue is not over yet. My brother will tell you all about it," and she nodded to Jack. The lieutenant, with a courteous lifting of his cap, turned to face Walter's chum. "We rescued him from a little island back there," Jack said. "We thought you might be on the same errand." "No," the officer said, "though we would have gone if we had heard of it. But we are after bigger game. Are you going back to St. Kitts?" "Yes, and then on again. We're trying to find the Ramona, or some--" "The Ramona!" cried the lieutenant, and there was wonder in his tones. "Do you, by any possible chance, mean the Ramona of the Royal Line?" "That's the one," said Jack, something of the other's excitement 'communicating itself to him. "Why, do you know anything about her?" "I only wish we knew more of her!" snapped the lieutenant, with a grim tightening of his lips, while the girls looked on in wonder at the strange scene. "We're after her, too," the officer continued. "She's in the hands of a mutinous crew, and she's been trying to do some smuggling. We've orders to take her if we can, but first we have to find her, and that's the errand we're on now. We stopped you to ask if you had had a sight of her. But why are you interested in finding her, if I may ask?" "We're looking for my mother, who sailed on her," said Cora, quickly, "and for Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson, the parents of these girls," and she nodded toward the twins. "Is it possible!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "This is indeed a coincidence." "Have you sighted the Ramona?" asked Cora. "No, Miss, and I wish we would--soon," spoke the lieutenant. "We're going to have a storm, if I'm any judge, and our cutter isn't any too sea-worthy. But it's all in the line of business," and he shrugged his shapely shoulders as though preparing for the worst. He would not shirk his duty. "Well, I'm sorry we can't give you any information," Cora said. "We, too, are very anxious to find the steamer, for we are not even sure that our parents are aboard. There was a terrible storm, you know, and she may have foundered." "No, she did not. We have good evidence of that," was the officer's answer. "She had a hard time in the hurricane, and suffered some damage, Miss, but she's sound and able to navigate. We heard that some of the crew, who would not join with the mutineers, were marooned--I am glad to get confirmation of that," and he nodded at Ben, whose story had been briefly told. "But what of the passengers?" asked Bess, anxiously. "Oh, did you hear anything of father and mother?" "Not personally, I am sorry to say," was the answer of the lieutenant as he touched his cap, and smiled at the eager girl. "But did you hear anything?" asked, Cora, for somehow she fancied she detected a tone as though the officer would have been glad to answer no further. "Well, Yes, Miss, I did," he was the somewhat reluctant reply. "The story goes that all the passengers are still aboard." "Still on board!" echoed Jack. "Why, I thought they were also marooned." "Evidently not," said the lieutenant. "Either the storm must have made them change their plans, or the mutineers were afraid of evidence being given against them by the passengers, for they kept them aboard, according to the latest reports we have had. "After living through the hurricane, the Ramona was headed for a quiet harbor, where the smugglers have their headquarters, and there repairs were made. Since then the ship, under another name, has been engaged in running contraband goods. We were ordered to get after her, but, so far, we have had our trouble for our pains. We hoped you might have sighted her." "We're going to keep on trying," said Cora. "We are going back to St. Kitts, to land him," and she nodded at the sailor they had rescued. "Well, then we may see you again," the lieutenant said, with a bow, that took in the motor girls impartially. He shot a quick glance at Inez, but Cora did not think it wise to speak of the Spanish girl, nor mention her father. After some further talk, in the course of which the lieutenant said the mutineers and smugglers would be harshly dealt with when caught, he returned to the cutter, which was soon under way again. She sheered off on a new tack, while the Tartar resumed her journey to St. Kitts. "Wasn't that remarkable?" asked Bess. "Very strange," agreed Cora. "And it gave us news," spoke Belle. "We know now that your mother, Cora, and that our folks are all right." "All right?" cried Jack, questioningly. "Well, I mean they are safe on board, and not suffering on some little island," went on Belle. "They might better off on some island," murmured Jack, but only Walter heard him, and he cautioned his chum quickly. "Don't let the girls hear you say that," he whispered. "I agree with you that they might be better off on an island, than on the steamer, with the mutineers and smugglers. But if the girls hear that, they'll have all kinds of fits. Keep still about it." "Oh, I intend to. But this complicates matters doesn't it? We'll have to find a constantly moving steamer, instead of a stationary island." "It's about six of one and a half dozen of the other," spoke Walter. "But we have help in our search now," and he nodded toward the cutter, only the smoke of which could now be seen. St. Kitts was reached without further incident, and Sailor Ben was taken ashore, Cora insisting on leaving him a sufficient sum of money to insure his care until he could find another berth. Then the pursuit of the Ramona was again taken up. For two days the Tartar cruised about on her strange quest, and when the third evening came, with the sun setting behind a bank of slate-colored clouds, Cora said to Jack: "It looks like a storm." "You're right, Sis," he agreed. And, I even as he spoke, there came a strange moaning of the wind, which sprang up suddenly, whipping feathers of foam from the crests of the oily waves. At the same moment, Joe, who had come up from the motor room for a breath of fresh air, cried out: "Sail ho!" CHAPTER XXVI THE PURSUIT "What is it?" cried Cora, as she came up from the little dining cabin, where she and the other girls had been "doing" the dishes. "A small steamer, Miss," answered the engineer of the Tartar. "I can't just make out what she is--sort of misty and hazy just now." "She seems to be headed this way, too," spoke Bess, who had joined Cora on the little deck. "Oh, but doesn't the weather look queer?" She turned a questioning and rather frightened gaze at her chum. "I think we're in for a storm," Cora spoke. "But we're too good sailors to mind that--aren't we?" "I hope so," faltered Bess. It was not so much a question of sea-sickness with the motor girls, as it was a fear of damage in a comparatively small craft. They had been on the water enough, and in stressful times, too, so that they suffered no qualms. But a storm at sea is ever a frightful sensation, to even the seasoned traveler. "Why, that boat is headed right for us," observed Belle, who had also come out of the dining cabin. As for Inez, she frankly did not like the water except when the sky was blue and the sun shining, though she was far from being cowardly about it. So she remained below. "Jack! Jack!" called Cora, for Walter and her brother had gone down to their stateroom to don "sea togs," as Jack called them--meaning thereby clothes that salt water would not damage. "What is it, Sis?" he asked. "There's another boat headed for us, perhaps she wants help?" Cora suggested. "We'll give them all we can," Jack called, as he came hurrying up. Then, as he steadied himself at the rail, and looked off through the mist toward the on-coming boat, he uttered an exclamation. "Why--that's the revenue cutter again!" he cried. "I'm sure of it! How about that, Joe?" The engineer, who had left his machinery in charge of Slim Jim, for the time, cleared his eyes of the salty spray. "I guess you're right," he agreed. "Couldn't make her out at first, but that's who she is. Guess she wants to ask us if we have any more information. Shall I heave to?" "Better, I think," advised Cora, following Jack's questioning glance. For, be it known, Jack deferred more than usual to his sister on this cruise, since he had been under her direction, rather than she under his. That it was the desire of the on-coming craft to have the Tartar slow up was evident a moment later. For, as the powerful motors revolved with less speed, a hail came over the heaving blue waters, that now had turned to a sickly green under the strange hue of the setting sun. "On board the Tartar!" came the cry. Evidently the boat of our voyagers had not been forgotten. "Ahoy!" shouted Jack, using a megaphone Cora handed him. "Stand by!" was the next command. "We want to send"--there came an undistinguishable word--"aboard." "They're going to send some one aboard!" cried Bess. "Oh, if it should be our folks--mother and father-your mother, Cora dear!" A flush of excitement gathered on Cora's cheeks. Belle, too, felt that something was impending. Jack, and Walter exchanged glances. The sea was running higher now, under the influence of an ever-increasing wind, and it was no easy matter to lower a small boat from the cutter--a small boat containing three men. "It's just as it was before--when they came to us for news," exclaimed Bess. "I wonder if they bring us news, now." "They certainly aren't bringing any of our people," said Cora with a sigh, for, though she had discounted the hope that Bess had expressed, yet she could not altogether free herself from it. It was evident that none save sailors were coming toward the Tartar. And, when the small boat drew nearer, those aboard the gasoline craft saw that they were to receive the same Lieutenant Walling who had before paid them a visit. "What is it, please?" asked Cora, leaning over the rail. She was unable to withhold her question longer. "We have news for you!" exclaimed the lieutenant, the pause coming as he made an ineffectual grasp for the rail as his boat rose on the swell. "News!" gasped Cora. Her heart was beating wildly now. "Oh, we haven't rescued your people," Lieutenant Walling hastened to assure her, as this time he managed to grasp the rail of the motor boat, swinging himself over on the deck. The swells were so high that no accommodation ladder was needed. "That's all--you may go back, and say to Captain Decker that I will look after matters," he said to the sailors in the small boat. One of them fended off from the side of the Tartar, while the other pulled on the oars. Soon they were on their way back, crossing the stretch of now sullenly heaving water between the two craft. "I find myself, under the direction of my commanding officer, Captain Decker, obliged to ask for help," said Lieutenant Walling, with a smile. "Help?" repeated Jack, who, with Walter, had joined the group of girls about the officer. "Yes. We have had news that the Ramona has been seen in this vicinity, and we were after her. But there was an accident to our machinery, and we can't go on in the storm. The cutter was obliged to put back when we sighted you. "I suggested to Captain Decker that possibly you could give us the very help we needed. You have an object in finding the Ramona, not the same object as ourselves, but stronger, if anything," and the lieutenant looked at Cora. She nodded her head in assent. "So it occurred to me," Lieutenant Walling went on, "that I might continue the chase in the Tartar. It is doubtful if our cutter could manage to navigate in the storm we seem about to have, so we should have been obliged to put back in any case, even if we had not had the accident. But you can stand a pretty good blow,"' he said, referring to the Tartar. "She's a good little boat, all right," said Jack, who knew something of motor craft. "So I perceive. And now, if you will allow me to use it on behalf of the government, we will try to catch the Ramona." "Is there really a chance of doing that?" asked Cora, in her eagerness laying her hand on the sleeve of the young officer. "There really is," was his answer. "She has been sighted by a fishing schooner--we had word from the captain of it. And the Ramona seems to be crippled. She was going slowly. We ought to catch her soon--if this storm holds off long enough." "Oh, isn't it exciting, Cora!" whispered Bess. "Almost like the time when you saved the papers in the red oar at Denny Shane's cabin!" "Only I hope there are no physical encounters," spoke Cora, with a shudder, as she recalled the strenuous days spent on Crystal Bay. "I fancy you need not be alarmed," the lieutenant said. "From what we can learn, the mutineers and smugglers are rather sick of their bargain. There have been dissentions and part of the crew is ready to give up. But the others are afraid of the punishment that will be meted out." "Will it be heavy?" asked Belle. "Heavy enough," was the significant answer. "It is a high crime to mutiny on the ocean, especially in time of storm and trouble." "Then you have a good chance of catching them?" asked Jack. "We think so--yes." "'But isn't this a rather--er--small force to capture a large steamer, in possession of desperate men?" Walter wanted to know. "It isn't as risky as you might think," answered Lieutenant Walling, with a smile. "As I said, the smugglers are now divided. One-half is already to turn on the other half. Once they are commanded to surrender, in the name of the government, I fancy they'll be only too glad to." "And what of the passengers--our folks?" asked Cora. "Well, they are still aboard, as far as can be learned," was the revenue officer's reply. "If we have luck, you may be with them before another day passes. But we need luck," and as he said this, he glanced around the horizon, as if to judge how much the elements might figure in the odds against him. Truly they seemed likely to make the chances anything but easy. The wind was constantly increasing in force, and from a low moan had changed to a threatening whine and growl. The seas were running high and the swells were breaking into foam. As yet the Tartar rode easily, being now under way again, but though she might stand even heavier waves than those now rolling after her, it would not be very comfortable for those aboard. "Will you take command?" asked Jack in answer to a look from his sister. "We'll turn this boat over to you, though we're United States subjects and you're--" "British--you needn't be afraid to say it," frankly laughed the lieutenant. "But I fancy we can strike up a friendly alliance. No, I don't wish to take command. This is merely asking you for an accommodation on your part. You are after the Ramona, as I understand it, and so am I. I merely ask to be allowed to go along and help you find her. Once I get aboard I shall put under arrest all the mutineers. And you will be with your people." "Oh, if we ever are again!" "Which way was she headed when you last had information?" asked Walter. "Southeast," was the reply, "and she isn't far ahead of us now. By crowding on speed we can overtake her by morning." "Hear that, Joe?" cried Jack. "Do your best now!" "Aye, aye, sir!" was the reply. "Have you gasoline for a long run?" asked the lieutenant. "Yes," Jack answered. "We filled the tanks at St. Kitts. But won't you come below, and we'll arrange for your comfort." "And do let me make you a cup of tea!" begged Cora. "I know you Englishmen are so fond of it--" "Well, we get rather out of the habitat sea," was the reply, "but I should be glad of some--if it isn't too much trouble." Through the gathering dusk, the advent of which was hastened by the coming storm, the Tartar heaved her way over the tumbling waters. Night came, and still the storm did not break. The lieutenant proved a good seaman, and, under his direction the motor boat kept on through the hours of darkness. The motor girls did not rest much, nor did Walter or Jack. As morning came, the storm broke in all its fury--being little short, in violence, of a West Indian hurricane. On through the mist, through the smother of foam, over the big greenish-blue waves scudded the Tartar, the lieutenant, in oilskins, standing in the bows, peering ahead for a sight of the steamer. And, at noon, following a fierce burst of wind, he give a cry. "What is it?" asked Jack, struggling toward. "Ship ahead! I think it is the Ramona!" was the answer. CHAPTER XXVII SENOR RAMO Clinging to the life-lines that had been stretched along the deck, Jack made his way to a partly-sheltered spot near which the lieutenant stood. "Where is she?" asked Jack, fairly shouting the words into the officer's ear, for the noise of the storm was such as to make this necessary. "Right ahead!" was the answer. "Look when we go up on the next crest." One moment the Tartar was down in the hollow of the waves, and the next on the top of the swell, and it was only on the latter occasion that a glimpse ahead could be had. "Now's your chance!" cried Lieutenant Walling to Jack. "Look!" Eagerly Cora's brother peered through the mist, wiping the salty spray from his eyes. Just ahead, wallowing in the trough of the sea, as though she were only partly under control, was a steamer. "I see her!" Jack shouted, and then the Tartar, went down in the hollow between two waves again, and he could glimpse only the seething water as it hissed past under the force of the wind. "I think it's the Ramona--I'm not sure," was the lieutenant's next remark. "What are you going to do about it?" Jack wanted to know. "Hang on as long as I can," was the grim reply. "She doesn't look as though she were good for much more, and we are." "Yes, we seem to be making it pretty well," Jack answered. Indeed the staunch little Tartar was more than living up to her name. She was buoyant, and there was a power and thrust to her screw that kept her head on to the heavy seas, which allowed her to ride them. The chase was now on, and a chase it was, for soon after sighting the steamer ahead of them, Lieutenant Walling, by means of powerful glasses, had made sure that she was the Ramona, and, without doubt, in charge of the mutineers, unless, indeed, the half of the crew opposed to them, had risen, and taken matters into their own hands. "But we'll soon find out," said the lieutenant, grimly. "How?"' asked Cora, for, the officer had come down into the cabin. "Can you board her now?" "Hardly, in this blow, Miss Kimball. But we can hang on, and get them as soon as it lets up a little." "Won't they get away from us?" Bess wanted to know. She, as well as her more fragile sister, had thoroughly entered into the spirit of the chase now. "I think we can more than hold our own with them," answered the lieutenant. "You have a very fast craft here, and owing to the fact that they haven't much coal, and that they have probably suffered some damage, we won't let them get away very easily. We can hold on, I think." "Then you won't try to run up alongside now?" Walter wanted to know. "Indeed not! It would be dangerous. She rolls like a porpoise in a seaway, and she'd crush us like an egg shell if we got too close. All we can do is to hold off a bit, until this blows out. And it can't last very long at this season of the year. Storms never do." For all the hopeful prediction of the young officer, this blow showed no signs of an early abatement. The wind seemed to increase, rather than diminish and the seas were still very high. Through it all the Tartar behaved well. Joe, with Slim Jim, the faithful negro, to help, kept the motors up to their work, and Walters Jack and the lieutenant took turns steering, for it was too much to ask Joe or Jim to do this in addition to their other work. The afternoon was waning, and it was evident that there would be another early night, for the clouds were thick. Walter and Jack had gone up on deck, while the lieutenant remained in the cabin, taking some hot tea which Cora had prepared for him. A warm feeling of friendship sprung up between the young officer and our travelers. Inez was not feeling well, and had gone to lie down in her berth, though it was anything but comfortable there, since the boat rolled and pitched so. "I say!" called Jack, down a partly opened port into the cabin, "I think you'd better come up here, Lieutenant." "Oh, he hasn't had his tea yet!" objected Cora. "That doesn't matter--if something is up!" was the hasty rejoinder, and, leaving the table, the revenue officer hastened up on deck, buttoning his oilskins as he went. "What is it?" he asked of the two young men. "She seems to be turning," said Jack, "thought you'd better know." "That's right. I'm glad you called me. Yes, she is changing her course," said Lieutenant Walling. "I wonder what she's up to?" The Ramona--Jack and Walter had made out her name under her stem rail now--was still slowly wallowing in the sea. She appeared to have lost headway, for she was moving very slowly, having barely steerage-way on. The Tartar had no trouble in keeping up to her. "I wonder if they've seen us, and are waiting for us?" ventured Walter. "They may have seen us, but they wouldn't stop--not in this sea," was the reply of the revenue officer. "They're up to some trick, and I can't just fathom what it is." With keen eyes he watched the steamer as it tore on through the mist. It was much nearer now. "I have an idea!" suddenly exclaimed the British officer. "I'll be back in a moment." He hurried down to the cabin again, and through a port Jack and Walter saw him bending over some charts. In a few minutes the lieutenant was up on deck again. "I understand!" he cried. "I know what they're up to now." "What?" asked Jack. He did not have to shout so loudly now, as the storm seemed to be lessening in its fury. "They're going to run in under the lea of Palm Island," said Lieutenant Walling. "I guess they've had enough of it. This is the beginning of the end. They must be in bad shape." "Sinking--do you mean?" asked Walter. "No, not exactly. But they may have run out of coal, and can't keep the engines going any longer. Yes, that's what they're doing--making for Palm Island." "What sort of a place is that?" Jack wanted to know. "A mighty ticklish sort of place to run for during a storm," was the answer. "There's a bad coral reef at the entrance to the harbor, but once you pass that you're all right. I wonder if they can navigate it?" "And if they don't?" asked Jack. "Well, they'll pile her up on the reef, and she'll pound to pieces in no time in this sea." Walter and Jack followed the lieutenant to the after deck, where the wheel was. There the revenue officer relieved Joe, the latter going to his motor, which needed attention. The storm was constantly growing less in violence. As yet there was no sign of an island, but presently, through the gathering darkness, there loomed up a black mass in the swirl of white waters. Now came the hard and risky work of getting in through the opening of a dangerous coral reef to the sheltered harbor. The big steamer went first, and, for a time, it seemed she was doomed, for the current played with her like a toy ship. But whoever was in charge of the wheel had a master's hand, and soon the craft had shot into the calm waters, followed by the Tartar. It was a great relief from the pitching and tossing of the last two days. "Oh, to be quiet again!" "Isn't it delightful!" agreed Bess. "And now if we can only find our folks!" Lieutenant Walling lost no time. As the Ramona dropped her anchor, he sent the Tartar alongside, and on his official hail a ladder was lowered. Walter and Jack mounted with him. "Every mutinous member of this crew is under arrest!" was the grim announcement of the revenue officer. "Who's in charge? Are there any passengers aboard?" Anxiously Jack looked for a sign of his mother, or for Mr. and Mrs. Robinson. He saw nothing of them. "The passengers were all put ashore, sir," said sailor, with a salute. "Where?" demanded the lieutenant. Before he could answer there came on deck a fat man, at the sight of whom Jack uttered an exclamation. "Senor Ramo!" cried Cora's brother. CHAPTER XXVIII FOUND Unaware of what was taking place on the deck of the Ramona, for they were far below its level in the Tartar, Cora, Belle, Bess and Inez looked anxiously aloft. They could hear a murmur of voices, but little else. It was nearly dark now, but Joe switched on the electrics in the motor boat, and aboard the steamer lights began to gleam. "Well!" exclaimed Cora, with her usual spirit. "I'm not going to stay here and miss everything. I want to see mother just as much as Jack does." She was as yet unaware, you see, of what the sailor had said to her brother. "Where are you going?" asked Bess, as Cora started for the dangling accommodation ladder. "Up there!" was the quick answer. "Oh, Cora! Don't leave us!" begged Bess. "Come along then," suggested Jack's practical sister. "But it is so steep!" complained Bess, who was more "plump" than ever, due to the inactivity of the sea trip. "It wont be any the less steep from waiting," spoke Cora, grimly, "and it'll soon be so dark that you'll likely fall off, if you try to go up. I'm going--mother must be up there, and so must your folks." "Of course!" cried Belle. "Don't be a coward, Bess." "I'm not, but--" "I will help," said Inez, gently, as she glided up from the cabin. "Perhaps zere may be news of my father!" She had been very patient all this while regarding news of her parent--very unselfish, for though the trip was partly undertaken to aid Senor Ralcanto, if possible, nothing as yet had been done toward this. All efforts had been bent toward getting news of Mrs. Kimball, and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, and Inez had said nothing. Even now, she was willing to help others first. "You're a dear," murmured Cora, her foot on the first step of the mounting ladder. "Oh, to think that all our worry is over now!" She had yet to learn what was in store for her and the others. "Oh, I know I'll fall in!" cried Bess, as she essayed to go up. "Don't be silly!" cautioned Cora. "Belle, you pull her from in front, and, Inez, you push. We've just got to get her up." The Tartar was made fast by a rope tossed from the deck of the Ramona, and Joe and Slim Jim stood on deck, ready to execute any commands that might come from the young navigators. Cora and the other girls safely reached the deck of the steamer. A carious sight confronted them. Jack and Walter stood confronting, in the glare of several electric lights, the portly form of Senor Ramo, who seemed ill at ease. The members of the mutinous crew stood about, rather shame-facedly, it must be confessed. Lieutenant Walling wore an air of triumph. He had brought the criminals to the end of their rope. "Jack! Where are they?" asked Cora, impulsively. "They--they're not here," her brother answered. "Not here? Then where are they? Oh, don't say they're--" Cora's voice could not frame the words. At this moment Inez caught sight of Senor Ramo. She was rather a timid girl, and her troubles and, tribulations had not made her any bolder, but now, at the sight of the man she believed had done, or who contemplated doing her father an injury, the Spanish maid's courage rushed to the fore. Inez sprang forward and began to speak rapidly in Spanish. Cora, who had managed to pick up a few words, understood that Inez was making a spirited demand for the papers which she accused the fat man of having taken from her room. Over and over again she insisted on receiving them--here, now, at once, without delay! So insistent was she that it looked, as though she meant to make a personal assault on-Senor Ramo, and take the papers from his ill-fitting frock coat. "Whew!" whistled Walter, "that's going some, isn't it?" "Walter! How can you?" remonstrated Cora. "At such a time, too!" "Just can't help it!" he murmured. "He's getting his deserts all right." Senor Ramo fairly backed away from the excited Inez, but she followed him to the very rail, where, as he could go no further, he made a stand, and continued to listen to her voluble talk. "She certainly has some spirit," murmured lieutenant Walling to Cora. "Is that the fellow she suspects?" he asked, for he had been told the story of Inez. "Yes," answered Cora. "But is my mother aboard? And Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?" "They're not!" broke in Jack. "These scoundrels have put them ashore--somewhere!" "Oh!" cried Bess and Belle in chorus. "Where?" demanded practical Cora. "I am going to institute an inquiry at once," said Lieutenant Walling. "I'll also have something to say to that fat Spaniard. Better tell your friend so," he suggested to the motor girls. "She might cause him to act hastily. He might do something desperate." "She only wants some papers she thinks he has," said Jack, "and I guess she's going to get them," for Senor Ramo was putting his hand to his inside breast pocket. "I'll soon straighten out this tangle," the lieutenant promised. "I'll have the ring-leaders locked up, and then we'll get at the bottom of the whole affair. I'd better send ashore for help, though. May I use your boat?" "Certainly," answered Cora. She was keenly disappointed at not finding the lost ones aboard. She and the others had counted so much on this when they should have come up to the Ramona. Where could the passengers be? Jim and Joe were sent, in the Tartar, to bring aboard representatives of the English government, Palm Island belonging to Great Britain. The mutinous crew had no spirit of resistance left. The erstwhile commander of the rebelling forces was locked in his stateroom, until Lieutenant Walling was reinforced, when others of the leaders were put in irons. "And I now I hope we can get some news," spoke Cora, when some sort of order had been brought out of the confusion, and the ship had been formally taken in charge by the authorities. "You shall have all there is," promised Lieutenant Walling. "First, in regard to your parents," and he looked from Cora to the twins. "They are safe, so far as can be judged, though they may be in some distress." "But where are they?" asked Cora, for Jack had found a chance to tell her that he had been informed they were put ashore. "On Double Island," answered Lieutenant Walling. "They were made prisoners when the mutineers rose and seized the ship. They were locked in their cabins, so some of those who have confessed told me, and when the storm was over, they were treated fairly well. They were forced to remain on board while the plan of entering into the smuggling game was carried on. They tried to get ashore, or to send messages for help, but were frustrated. "Then, finally, some of the crew began to grumble at the presence of the passengers. Food was running low, and a certain amount of care was required to prevent them from escaping. The upshot of it was that your parents were put ashore on Double Island, with a fairly good amount of food and other supplies." "How long ago?" "Where is a Double Island?" "Can't we start and rescue them?" "What of Inez's father?" These questions were fairly rained on Lieutenant Walling, "One at a time, please," he said, as he gazed at the young people gathered about him in the cabin of the Ramona. "It was over a week ago that the passengers were put ashore on Double Island--there were only your parents," he added, glancing again from Cora to the twins. "All the others had departed in the small boats when it was feared that the Ramona was sinking. As to the location of Double Island--it is about two days' steaming from here. We certainly can, and will, rescue them, and as for the father of Miss Inez--well that is another matter. We shall have to see Senor Ramo. He seems to know something about the prisoner--at least Miss Inez thinks that does." At that moment Inez came into the cabin. Whether she had been all this while "laying down the law," as Jack phrased it, to the Spaniard was not, for the present, disclosed. But she was greatly excited, and she flourished in her hand a package of documents. "I have ze papairs!" she cried, exultantly. "Now my father will be free. Oh, Senorita you will help me--will you not--to go to Sea Horse Island and rescue him?" "Of course," spoke Cora, in answer to this pleading. "My! but we have lots of work ahead of us!" and she sighed. "But you are equal to it, my dear," said Bess. "Oh, to see papa and mamma again!" "And to think of them living on some lonely little island!" sighed her sister. "We can't get to them quickly enough!" "You had better go ashore for the night," suggested Lieutenant Walling, "and we'll start early in the morning. I'll go with you--if you will let me," and he looked at Jack's sister. "Of course," murmured Cora, blushing slightly. "You'll need more gasoline perhaps, and other stores," the officer went on. "And the journey will be much easier made with a good morning's start." So it was decided. Supper was served for the young people aboard the Ramona, by direction of the British officer who was put in charge. There was rather more room to move about than on the Tartar. After the meal--the merriest since the strange quest had begun--explanations were forthcoming. "I want to know how Inez got those papers away from Ramo," said Walter, with a flash of admiration at the Spanish girl. "Ah, Senor, it is no secret!" she laughed. "I said I knew he had zem, and if he did not gif 'em I would tear zem from his pocket! "He gave zem to me," she finished, simply. "Good for you!" cried Jack. "What became of him?" "I believe he went ashore in a small boat," said the lieutenant. "I'm having him watched, though, for I think he had some hand in this smuggling. In fact, he may prove to be at the bottom of the whole business." And so it turned out. Senor Ramo, while pretending to be a respectable Spanish coffee merchant, had been engaged secretly in smuggling. It was he who planned the mutiny on the Ramona for purposes of his own, though the storm gave him unexpected aid. He had joined the steamer later, after having stolen the papers from the room of Inez. For it was Ramo who had taken them. His agents had sent him word that Inez had the means to free the political prisoner, and as this would have interfered with the plans of Ramo and his cronies, he determined to frustrate it. So, watching his chance, he took the papers and fled to join his mutinous and smuggling comrades. But the fates were against him. Later, it was learned that Ramo had tried, through agents in New York, to get the papers from the Spanish girl. And the tramp in Chelton was, undoubtedly, one of them. Inez said Ramo explained to her that he intended to keep her father a prisoner only a short time longer. With Senor Ralcanto free, the plans of the smugglers would have been interfered with, for the father of Inez, and his party, stood for law and order. "But now I free my father myself!" cried the Spanish girl, proudly. "No more do I wait for that fat one!" So with the papers which would eventually release the Spanish prisoner, and well fitted out for the cruise to Double Island, the party once again set forth on her cruise. "There the island is!" cried Lieutenant Walling, on the second day out. "And I think I can see a flag flying. Few ships pass this way, but, very likely, the refugees would try to call one." And, a little later, as the Tartar came nearer, Cora, who was looking through the glasses, cried out: "I can see them! They are on shore! There's mother, Jack! She's waving, though of course she doesn't know who we are. And I see your mother and father, girls! Oh, Bess--Belle--we've found them!" CHAPTER XXIX AT SEA HORSE There proved to be a good harbor at Double Island--a harbor ringed about with sand-fringed coral, with a sandy bottom which could be seen through the limpid depths of the blue water that was as clear as a sapphire-tinted crystal. And, a short way up from the beach was a line of palms and other tropical plants, while, in a little clearing, near what proved to be a trickling spring, was a rude sort of hut. "Ahoy, folks!" yelled Jack, his voice a shout with its old vigor. "Here we are!" What the three on the beach said could not be heard, but they were plainly much excited. "They don't yet know who we are," said Cora. "They only know they are being rescued," echoed Bess. "Oh, but isn't it great--we've found them!" cried Belle in delight, hugging first Cora, Bess and next Inez. Inez said nothing, but her shining eyes told of the joy she felt in the happiness of her friends. Her time for rejoicing was yet to come. So little did the beach in the coral harbor shelve that the big motor boat could come up to within a few yards of the shore. "Why it's Jack--and Cora!" cried Mrs. Robinson. "It's your son and daughter--and the girls! Oh, of all things!" Mrs. Kimball could not answer. She was softly crying on the shoulder of Mrs. Robinson, Mr. Robinson, who had been trying to catch some crabs along shore, had his trousers rolled up. He was rather a disheveled figure as he stood there--in fact, none of the refugees appeared to sartorial advantage--but who minded that? "Hurray!" yelled Mr. Robinson, waving, a piece of cloth on a stick--an improvised crab-net. "Hurray! So you've come for the Robinson Crusoes; have you?" "That's it!" shouted Jack, who was getting the small boat ready to go ashore. "I thought we'd find them," spoke Lieutenant Walling. "Oh, and we can't, thank you enough!" Cora murmured to him gratefully. "Only for you we might not have located the Ramona in a long time, and we night have been a month finding the folks. And you dear good girl!" she went on, putting her arms about Inez. "Next we are going to rescue your father." "I shall be glad--mos' glad!" said the Spanish girl, softly. Then they all went ashore, and brother and sisters were clasped in the arms of their loved ones. "But how did it all happen?" asked Mr. Robinson. "How did you know where to look for us? Did the Ramona's crew repent, and send you for us? Tell us all about it! How are you, anyhow?" He poured out a veritable flood of questions, which the girls, Jack, Walter and Lieutenant Walling tried to answer as best they could--the girls, it must be confessed, rather hysterically and tearfully. "It was Cora and Jack who had the idea," said Bess, when quiet had been a little restored. "They determined to charter a motor boat and go in search of you, after we heard that the Ramona had foundered in the storm. And of course we wouldn't be left behind." "Brave girls," murmured their mother. "Indeed they were brave," declared Jack, patting Bess on her plump shoulder. "We--we were afraid of being left behind," confessed Belle. "So we came." "But what have you done since being marooned here?" Cora wanted to know. "Wasn't it awful--just awful?" "Not so awful!" answered Mr. Robinson, with a laugh that could be jolly now. "We've had a fine time, and you should see some of the orchids I have gathered! It was worth all the hardship!" "But, really, it hasn't been so bad," said Mrs. Kimball. "The weather was delightful, except for the two storms, and we have had enough to eat--such as it was. We have been camping out, and no more ideal place for such a life can be found than a West Indian coral island in December." She looked back amid the palms, among which grew in a tropical luxuriousness many beautiful blossoms, with birds of brilliant plumage flitting from flower to flower. "And you look so well," commented Cora, for indeed, aside from traces of sunburn, the refugees were pictures of health. "We are well," declared Mrs. Robinson. "But of course we have been terribly worried about you girls, and Jack, too. How are you, Jack?" she asked, anxiously. "You needn't ask," laughed Cora. "One glance is enough." "Oh, I had a little touch of my old trouble," said Jack, in answer to his mother's questioning glance, "but I'm fine and fit now. But tell us about yourselves." "Well, we're camping out here," said Mr. Robinson, with a laugh, "waiting for some vessel to come along and take us off. We could have stood it for another month, though it was getting pretty lonesome, with all due respect to the ladies," and he made a mock bow. "That's nothing to how tiresome just one man can get, my dears!" put in his wife, to the girls. Then they exchanged stories of their adventures. As those of the motor girls are well known to our readers, there is no need to dwell further on them. As the crew of the Ramona had confessed, they had set the passengers--Mrs. Kimball and Mr. and Mrs. Robinson--ashore on Double Island, some time after the uprising. Our friends were glad enough to leave the vessel, for there were constant bickering and quarrels among the mutineers. Affairs did not go at all smoothly. So it was with comparatively small regret that the refugees found themselves set ashore. They were given a boat, and a sufficient supply of food and stores. Only in the matter of clothing were they handicapped, having only a few belongings, the mutineers keeping the remainder. "When we got ashore, and took an account of stock," said Mr. Robinson, "I found some sort of shelter would be necessary, even if we were in a land of almost perpetual June. "This wasn't the first time I had gone camping, under worse circumstances than these, so I soon put up this hut. Not bad, is it?" and he waved his hand toward the palm-leaf thatched structure. "It's great!" cried Jack. "I think I'll stay here a while myself, and camp out." "You may--I've had enough," said Mrs. Robinson. "Oh, I do hope you girls have some spare hairpins!" she exclaimed. "Perry said to use thorns, but even if Mother Eve did her hair up that way, I can't!" she sighed. "Well, to make a long story short," resumed Mr. Robinson, "we've been here ever since. And we are beginning to enjoy ourselves. We've had enough to eat, such as it is, though the tinned stuff gets a trifle palling after a time. So I've been trying to catch a few crabs." "And he hasn't had any luck--he might as well confess," said his wife. "Give me time, my dear," protested Mr. Robinson. "There's one now!" He made a swoop with the improvised net, but the crustacean flipped itself into deep water and escaped. "Never mind--you're going to leave now, Dad!" said Bess, gaily. The young folks inspected the rude hut, and were charmed by its simplicity. "Though it does leak," said Mr. Robinson. "I must admit that." "Leak!" cried Mrs. Robinson. "It's a regular sieve!" "Might as well haul down our signal," observed Mr. Robinson, for on a tall palm, at a prominent height of the island, he had raised an improvised flag. Double Island was uninhabited, and was seldom visited by any vessels, though in the course of time the refugees would have been rescued even if the motor girls had not come for them. But their experience would have been unpleasant, if not dangerous. "Well, let's go aboard and start back to civilization," proposed Belle, after Lieutenant Walling had been introduced, and his part in the affair told. "But we mustn't forget Inez's father!" cried Cora. "We still have some rescue work to do." "Oh, I'm so sorry I couldn't make any move along that line," spoke Mr. Robinson. "But now I'll attend to it, Inez." "We'll make for Sea Horse Island at once," said Cora. "Inez has the papers with her. Tell him how you threatened Senor Ramo, dear," and the tale of the fat Spaniard was related. Made comfortable aboard the Tartar, which had resumed her strange cruise, the refugees told little details of their marooning, which story there had not been time for on the island. The days were pleasant, the weather all that could be desired, and in due season Sea Horse was sighted. This was a small place, maintained by the Spanish government as a prison for political offenders. As the Tartar approached the fort at the harbor entrance, Lieutenant Walling looked through the glass at several flags flying from a high pole. "Something wrong here," he announced. "What do you mean?" asked Jack. "Some prisoner, or prisoners, have escaped," was the answer. "'The signal indicates that. We'll soon find out." A curious idea came into Jack's head. CHAPTER XXX SENOR RALCANTO Sea Horse Island was not attractive. There was no coral enclosed harbor, filled with limpid blue water--though the sea off shore was blue enough, for that matter. There were a few waving palms, and a hill or two midland. But that was all. The principal building was the political prison, and the barracks, or quarters of the commanding officer and his aides. In fact, Sea Horse Island was as little beautiful as its name. But the eyes of Inez glowed when she saw it, for once it had been home to her. "And now to see my father!" cried the Spanish girl, when preparations were made for going ashore. "Zey can hardly keep me from seeing him, can zey?" she asked Mr. Robinson and Lieutenant Walling. "I think not, my dear," said the former. "And if I am any judge of the worth of evidence, they can't refuse to let him go, after we show our documents, though it may take a little time." "Matters may not be all easy sailing now," suggested the British officer. "Why not?" demanded Cora. "Because of the fact that there has been an escape--perhaps several," was the answer. "Those signal flags are a warning to all vessels not to take aboard any refugees that seem to have escaped from here, unless they are taken as prisoners." "How horrid!" murmured Bess. "But we'll go see the commandant, and learn how matters stand," went on Mr. Robinson. "Fortunately I have letters from persons in influence that may aid me. And you have your papers, Inez?" "Yes, Senor. I have them," she answered. Our friends were stared at rather disconcertingly as they landed, and there was no little suspicion in the glances directed at them, as they made their way to the commandant's quarters. There was some delay before they were admitted, for they all went in together, all save Walter, and he had said it might be best if he remained on board the Tartar with Joe and Jim. "We have come," said Mr. Robinson to the Spanish officer, "to arrange for the release of Senor Ralcanto--the father of this young lady. We have papers which prove his innocence of the charge against him, and I may add that one, of the men responsible for his unjust arrest is himself a prisoner, and on a more serious charge than a mere political one. I refer to Senor Ramo, who is in jail at Palm Island." The commandant started. Evidently he was regarding his callers with more courtesy, for he had been a bit supercilious at first. "Senor Ramo incarcerated?" he asked. "Is it possible?" "Very much so," went on Mr. Robinson, grimly. "And now we come to demand the release of Senor Ralcanto--or at least I demand to have an interview with him--as does his daughter--that we may take measures for freeing him. If you will look at the copies of these papers, you will see what authority we have," and he tossed some letters, and copies of the documents Inez had recovered, on the table. "I am sorry, but it is impossible to grant what you request," said the commandant stiffly, hardly glancing at the papers. "Why?" asked Mr. Robinson, truculently. "Do you mean we cannot see the prisoner, or that you will not release him?" "Both!" was the surprising answer. "You cannot see Senor Ralcanto because he is not here. And I cannot release him, had I the power, for he has released himself. In other words, Senor, he has escaped!" "Escaped!" cried Jack and Cora in a breath. "My father escaped!" murmured Inez. "Oh, praise ze dear God for zat! He is free! Oh, but where is he?" "That I know not, Senorita," was the stiff answer. "I wish I did. We have searched for him, but have not found him. He must have had friends working for him on the outside," and he glanced with suspicious eyes at our friends. "Well, we probably would have worked for him, had we had the chance," said Mr. Robinson, "but we had no hand in his escape. May I ask how he got away from your prison?" "In a boat--about a week ago," was the grudging reply. "That is all I can say. He is no longer on Sea Horse Island. I have the honor to bid you good-day!" "Polite, at any rate," murmured Jack. "Bow, what's our next move?" "To find her father!" exclaimed the British officer, promptly. He had entered into this as enthusiastically as he had into the task of finding the mutineers and smugglers. "If he got away in a boat," resumed the lieutenant, "he would most likely make for some island. There are many such not far from here, but these Spaniards are so back-numbered, they wouldn't think of making a systematic search. That's for us to do." "Oh, if we can only find him!" murmured Inez. "We will--never fear!" cried Jack, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster at short notice. It was little use to linger longer on Sea Horse Island. No more information concerning the escaped man was available. It must be a "blind search" from then on. Still, the searchers did not give up hope, and once more the Tartar was under way. I shall not weary you with the details of the final part of her cruise. Suffice it to say that many islands were called at, and many vessels spoken, with a view to finding out if any of the uninhabited coral specks in that stretch of blue West Indian waters had, of late, showed signs of being inhabited by a lone man. But no helpful clue was obtained. Still the search was kept up. Mr. Robinson, his wife and Mrs. Kimball stayed with the young people, having renewed their wardrobes at the first suitable stopping place. Then the search was resumed. And, curiously enough, it was Inez who discovered the torn rag, floating from a tree, which gave the signal that help was needed at a lonely isle they reached about two weeks after the search began. "I think some one is zere," she said to Jack, pointing to the signal. "It does look so," he agreed. "We'll put in there." "A hard place to live," said Lieutenant Walling, as he came on deck and viewed the little Island. "It is very barren." "Do you--do you think it can be my father?" faltered Inez. "It is possible--it is some poor soul, at all events--or some one has been there," the officer concluded. "You mean it may be too late?" asked Cora, softly. Lieutenant Walling nodded his head in confirmation. The Tartar anchored off shore, and the small boat went to the beach. Hardly had it ground on the shingle than a tattered and ragged--a tottering figure crawled from the bushes. It was the figure of a man, much emaciated from hunger. But the eyes showed bright from under the matted hair and from out of the straggly beard. Inez, who had come ashore with the first boat-load, sprang forward. "Padre! Padre!" she cried, opening wide her arms, "I have found you at last! Padre! Padre!" The others drew a little aside. Once more the Tartar was under way. She was nearing the end of her strange cruise, for she was headed for San Juan--the blue harbor of San Juan. Seated on deck, in an easy chair, was a Spanish gentleman, about whom Inez fluttered in a joy of service. It was her father. He had, after many failures, made his escape from Sea Horse Island in a small boat, and had lived, for some time on the little coral rock, hardly worthy the name islet. He had almost starved, but he was free. Then his privations became too much for him, and he hoisted his signal for help. He would even have welcomed a Spanish party, so distressed was he. But his own daughter--and friends--came instead. And, had he but waited a few weeks, he need not have so suffered in running away from his prison. The papers Inez had secured would have brought about his freedom from the unjust charge. "But we have him anyhow!" cried Jack, "and a good job it was, too!" "Isn't Jack just splendid!" murmured Bess to Cora. "He is so well again!" "Yes, the trip, in spite of its hardships, has worked wonders for him." "And I suppose we'll have to go back North again soon," remarked Belle. "Papa's business here is practically finished." "Yes, we are going back to civilization, without smugglers and mutineers,"' said Mrs. Kimball. "Oh, I rather liked them, they were sort of a tonic," laughed Mrs. Robinson. "Sometimes one can take a little too much tonic," spoke Cora. "But it certainly has been a wonderful experience." The Tartar dropped anchor at San Juan, coming to rest in the waters blue, over which she had skimmed on so many adventuresome trips of late. "Well, are you glad to be back here?" asked Jack, of Senor Ralcanto. "Indeed, yes, I am. And you have all been so kind to me. I can never repay you for what you have done for my daughter and myself," and he stroked the dark hair of Inez, who knelt at his side. "Well, send for us again if you--er--need our services," suggested Walter. "Thank you--but I am going to keep out of prison after this," was the laughing answer. There is little more to tell of this story. Senor Ralcanto was speedily recovering from his harsh experiences, when our friends took a steamer for New York, some weeks later. The mutineers and smugglers of the Ramona, including Senor Ramo, the real, influential leader, were duty punished. After a final cruise about the blue waters of San Juan, in the Tartar, our friends bade farewell to the craft that had served them so efficiently. "Good-bye!" called Cora, as she stood on the steamer-deck, homeward bound, and waved her hand to the blue sky, the blue waters, the blue mountains and the green, waving palms. "Good-bye! Good-bye!" And we will echo her words. THE END 
29316	----	[Illustration: Sir Henry Morgan--Buccaneer.] _Sir Henry Morgan, BUCCANEER_ _A Romance of the Spanish Main_ _BY_ _CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY_ _Author of "For Love of Country," "For the Freedom of the Sea," "The Southerners," "Hohenzollern," "The Quiberon Touch," "Woven with the Ship," "In the Wasp's Nest," Etc._ [Illustration] _Illustrations by J.N. MARCHAND and WILL CRAWFORD_ G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1903, IN GREAT BRITAIN [_All rights reserved_] _Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer_ _Issued October, 1903_ _TO MY ONLY BROTHER_ COLONEL JASPER EWING BRADY _LATE U.S. ARMY_ "Woe to the realms which he coasted! for there Was shedding of blood and rending of hair, Rape of maiden and slaughter of priest, Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast; When he hoisted his standard black, Before him was battle, behind him wrack, And he burned the churches, that heathen Dane, To light his band to their barks again." SCOTT: "Harold the Dauntless." _PREFACE_ In literature there have been romantic pirates, gentlemanly pirates, kind-hearted pirates, even humorous pirates--in fact, all sorts and conditions of pirates. In life there was only one kind. In this book that kind appears. Several presentations--in the guise of novels--of pirates, the like of which never existed on land or sea, have recently appeared. A perusal of these interesting romances awoke in me a desire to write a story of a real pirate, a pirate of the genuine species. Much research for historical essays, amid ancient records and moldy chronicles, put me in possession of a vast amount of information concerning the doings of the greatest of all pirates; a man unique among his nefarious brethren, in that he played the piratical game so successfully that he received the honor of knighthood from King Charles II. A belted knight of England, who was also a brutal, rapacious, lustful, murderous villain and robber--and undoubtedly a pirate, although he disguised his piracy under the name of buccaneering--is certainly a striking and unusual figure. Therefore, when I imagined my pirate story I pitched upon Sir Henry Morgan as _the_ character of the romance. It will spare the critic to admit that the tale hereinafter related is a work of the imagination, and is not an historical romance. According to the latest accounts, Sir Henry Morgan, by a singular oversight of Fate, who must have been nodding at the time, died in his bed--not peacefully I trust--and was buried in consecrated ground. But I do him no injustice, I hasten to assure the reader, in the acts that I have attributed to him, for they are more than paralleled by the well authenticated deeds of this human monster. I did not even invent the blowing up of the English frigate in the action with the Spanish ships. If I have assumed for the nonce the attributes of that unaccountably somnolent Fate, and brought him to a terrible end, I am sure abundant justification will be found in the recital of his mythical misdeeds, which, I repeat, were not a circumstance to his real transgressions. Indeed, one has to go back to the most cruel and degenerate of the Roman emperors to parallel the wickednesses of Morgan and his men. It is not possible to put upon printed pages explicit statements of what they did. The curious reader may find some account of these "Gentlemen of the Black Flag," so far as it can be translated into present-day books intended for popular reading, in my volume of "COLONIAL FIGHTS AND FIGHTERS." The writing of this novel has been by no means an easy task. How to convey clearly the doings of the buccaneer so there could be no misapprehension on the part of the reader, and yet to write with due delicacy and restraint a book for the general public, has been a problem with which I have wrestled long and arduously. The whole book has been completely revised some six times. Each time I have deleted something, which, while it has refined, I trust has not impaired the strength of the tale. If the critic still find things to censure, let him pass over charitably in view of what might have been! As to the other characters, I have done violence to the name and fame of no man, for all of those who played any prominent part among the buccaneers in the story were themselves men scarcely less criminal than Morgan. Be it known that I have simply appropriated names, not careers. They all had adventures of their own and were not associated with Morgan in life. Teach--I have a weakness for that bad young man--is known to history as "Blackbeard"--a much worse man than the roaring singer of these pages. The delectable Hornigold, the One-Eyed, with the "wild justice" of his revenge, was another real pirate. So was the faithful Black Dog, the maroon. So were Raveneau de Lussan, Rock Braziliano, L'Ollonois, Velsers, Sawkins, and the rest. In addition to my desire to write a real story of a real pirate I was actuated by another intent. There are numberless tales of the brave days of the Spanish Main, from "Westward Ho!" down. In every one of them, without exception, the hero is a noble, gallant, high-souled, high-spirited, valiant descendant of the Anglo-Saxon race, while the villain--and such villains they are!--is always a proud and haughty Spaniard, who comes to grief dreadfully in the final trial which determines the issue. My sympathies, from a long course of reading of such romances, have gone out to the under Don. I determined to write a story with a Spanish gentleman for the hero, and a Spanish gentlewoman for the heroine, and let the position of villain be filled by one of our own race. Such things were, and here they are. I have dwelt with pleasure on the love affairs of the gallant Alvarado and the beautiful Mercedes. But, after all, the story is preëminently the story of Morgan. I have striven to make it a character sketch of that remarkable personality. I wished to portray his ferocity and cruelty, his brutality and wantonness, his treachery and rapacity; to exhibit, without lightening, the dark shadows of his character, and to depict his inevitable and utter breakdown finally; yet at the same time to bring out his dauntless courage, his military ability, his fertility and resourcefulness, his mastery of his men, his capacity as a seaman, which are qualities worthy of admiration. Yet I have not intended to make him an admirable figure. To do that would be to falsify history and disregard the artistic canons. So I have tried to show him as he was; great and brave, small and mean, skilful and able, greedy and cruel; and lastly, in his crimes and punishment, a coward. And if a mere romance may have a lesson, here in this tale is one of a just retribution, exhibited in the awful, if adequate, vengeance finally wreaked upon Morgan by those whom he had so fearfully and dreadfully wronged. CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY. BROOKLYN, N.Y., _December, 1902_. NOTE.--The date of the sack of Panama has been advanced to comply with the demands of this romance. _TABLE OF CONTENTS_ BOOK I. HOW SIR HENRY MORGAN IN HIS OLD AGE RESOLVED TO GO A-BUCCANEERING AGAIN. CHAPTER PAGE I.--Wherein Sir Henry Morgan made good use of the ten minutes allowed him 25 II.--How Master Benjamin Hornigold, the One-Eyed, agreed to go with his old Captain 45 III.--In which Sir Henry Morgan finds himself at the head of a crew once more 65 IV.--Which tells how the _Mary Rose_, frigate, changed masters and flags 81 BOOK II. THE CRUISE OF THE BUCCANEERS AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE SEAS. CHAPTER PAGE V.--How the _Mary Rose_ overhauled three Spanish treasure ships 97 VI.--In which is related the strange expedient of the Captain and how they took the great galleon 115 VII.--Wherein Bartholomew Sawkins mutinied against his Captain and what befel him on that account 128 VIII.--How they strove to club-haul the galleon and failed to save her on the coast of Caracas 145 BOOK III. WHICH TREATS OF THE TANGLED LOVE AFFAIRS OF THE PEARL OF CARACAS. CHAPTER PAGE IX.--Discloses the hopeless passion between Donna Mercedes de Lara and Captain Dominique Alvarado, the Commandante of La Guayra 161 X.--How Donna Mercedes tempted her lover and how he strove valiantly to resist her appeals 174 XI.--Wherein Captain Alvarado pledges his word to the Viceroy of Venezuela, the Count Alvaro de Lara, and to Don Felipe de Tobar, his friend 190 XII.--Shows how Donna Mercedes chose death rather than give up Captain Alvarado, and what befel them on the road over the mountains 200 XIII.--In which Captain Alvarado is forsworn and with Donna Mercedes in his arms breaks his plighted word 218 BOOK IV. IN WHICH IS RELATED AN ACCOUNT OF THE TAKING OF LA GUAYRA BY THE BUCCANEERS AND THE DREADFUL PERILS OF DONNA MERCEDES DE LARA AND CAPTAIN ALVARADO IN THAT CITY. CHAPTER PAGE XIV.--Wherein the crew of the galleon intercepts the two lovers by the way 231 XV.--Tells how Mercedes de Lara returned the unsought caress of Sir Henry Morgan and the means by which the buccaneers surmounted the walls 248 XVI.--In which Benjamin Hornigold recognizes a cross and Captain Alvarado finds and loses a mother on the strand 265 XVII.--Which describes an audience with Sir Henry Morgan and the treachery by which Captain Alvarado benefited 283 BOOK V. HOW THE SPANIARDS RE-TOOK LA GUAYRA AND HOW CAPTAIN ALVARADO FOUND A NAME AND SOMETHING DEARER STILL IN THE CITY. CHAPTER PAGE XVIII.--Discloses the way in which Mercedes de Lara fought with woman's cunning against Captain Henry Morgan 301 XIX.--How Captain Alvarado crossed the mountains, found the Viceroy, and placed his life in his master's hands 326 XX.--Wherein Master Teach, the pirate, dies better than he lived 347 XXI.--The recital of how Captain Alvarado and Don Felipe de Tobar came to the rescue in the nick of time 354 XXII.--In which Sir Henry Morgan sees a cross, cherishes a hope, and makes a claim 370 XXIII.--How the good priest, Fra Antonio de Las Casas, told the truth, to the great relief of Captain Alvarado and Donna Mercedes, and the discomfiture of Master Benjamin Hornigold and Sir Henry Morgan 385 XXIV.--In which Sir Henry Morgan appeals unavailingly alike to the pity of woman, the forgiveness of priest, the friendship of comrade, and the hatred of men 402 BOOK VI. IN WHICH THE CAREER OF SIR HENRY MORGAN IS ENDED ON ISLA DE LA TORTUGA, TO THE GREAT DELECTATION OF MASTER BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD, HIS SOMETIME FRIEND. CHAPTER PAGE XXV.--And last. Wherein is seen how the judgment of God came upon the buccaneers in the end 421 _ILLUSTRATIONS_ BY J.N. MARCHAND Sir Henry Morgan--Buccaneer _Frontispiece_ PAGE With the point of his own sword pressed against the back of his neck, he repeated the message which Morgan had given him (_see page 39_) 41 Their blades crossed in an instant ... There was a roar from Carib's pistol, and the old man fell (_see page 87_) 89 Morgan instantly snatched a pistol from de Lussan's hand and shot the man dead (_see page 138_) 139 Alvarado threw his right arm around her, and with a force superhuman dragged her from the saddle (_see page 217_) 215 The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye (_see page 267_) 269 ... he reached the summit--breathless, exhausted, unhelmed, weaponless, coatless, in rags; torn, bruised, bleeding, but unharmed (_see page 332_) 333 ... he threw the contents at the feet of the buccaneer, and there rolled before him the severed head of ... his solitary friend (_see page 412_) 413 Hell had no terror like to this, which he, living, suffered (_see page 443_) 441 BY WILL CRAWFORD PAGE "To our next meeting, Mr. Bradley" (_see page 44_) 25 There was one man ... who did not join in the singing (_see page 49_) 45 Carlingford had risen in his boat ... and with dauntless courage he shook his bared sword (_see page 91_) 81 The high poop and rail of the Spaniard was black with iron-capped men (_see page 121_) 115 "Wilt obey me in the future?" cried the captain (_see page 143_) 128 "Are you in a state for a return journey at once, señor?" he asked of the young officer (_see page 173_) 161 "The fault is mine," said Alvarado (_see page 183_) 174 Early as it was, the Viceroy and his officers ... bid the travelers Godspeed (_see page 200_) 200 During the intervals of repose the young man allowed his party, the two lovers were constantly together (_see page 224_) 218 But de Lussan shot him dead, and before the others could make a move, Morgan stepped safely on the sand (_see page 239_) 241 "Slay them, O God! Strike and spare not!" (_see page 281_) 265 "What would you do for him?" "My life for his," she answered bravely (_see page 289_) 283 "Hast another weapon in thy bodice?" (_see page 319_) 321 Quite the best of the pirates, he! (_see page 351_) 347 By an impulse ... she slipped her arms around his neck ... and kissed him (_see page 366_) 354 "Treachery? My lord, his was the first" (_see page 378_) 370 "'Tis a certificate of marriage of----" (_see page 400_) 385 "God help me!" cried Alvarado, throwing aside the poniard, "I cannot" (_see page 386_) 387 "I wanted to let you know there was water here.... There is not enough for both of us. Who will get it? I; look!" (_see page 436_) 437 "Harry Morgan's way to lead--old Ben Hornigold's to follow--ha, ha! ho, ho!" He waded out into the water ... (_see page 444_) 445 BOOK I HOW SIR HENRY MORGAN IN HIS OLD AGE RESOLVED TO GO A-BUCCANEERING AGAIN _SIR HENRY MORGAN, BUCCANEER_ CHAPTER I WHEREIN SIR HENRY MORGAN MADE GOOD USE OF THE TEN MINUTES ALLOWED HIM His Gracious Majesty, King Charles II. of England, in sportive--and acquisitive--mood, had made him a knight; but, as that merry monarch himself had said of another unworthy subject whom he had ennobled--his son, by the left hand--"God Almighty could not make him a gentleman!" [Illustration] Yet, to the casual inspection, little or nothing appeared to be lacking to entitle him to all the consideration attendant upon that ancient degree. His attire, for instance, might be a year or two behind the fashion of England and still further away from that of France, then, as now, the standard maker in dress, yet it represented the extreme of the mode in His Majesty's fair island of Jamaica. That it was a trifle too vivid in its colors, and too striking in its contrasts for the best taste at home, possibly might be condoned by the richness of the material used and the prodigality of trimming which decorated it. Silk and satin from the Orient, lace from Flanders, leather from Spain, with jewels from everywhere, marked him as a person entitled to some consideration, at least. Even more compulsory of attention, if not of respect, were his haughty, overbearing, satisfied manner, his look of command, the expression of authority in action he bore. Quite in keeping with his gorgeous appearance was the richly furnished room in which he sat in autocratic isolation, plumed hat on head, quaffing, as became a former brother-of-the-coast and sometime buccaneer, amazing draughts of the fiery spirits of the island of which he happened to be, _ad interim_, the Royal Authority. But it was his face which attested the acuteness of the sneering observation of the unworthy giver of the royal accolade. No gentleman ever bore face like that. Framed in long, thin, gray curls which fell upon his shoulders after the fashion of the time, it was as cruel, as evil, as sensuous, as ruthless, as powerful an old face as had ever looked over a bulwark at a sinking ship, or viewed with indifference the ravaging of a devoted town. Courage there was, capacity in large measure, but not one trace of human kindness. Thin, lean, hawk-like, ruthless, cunning, weather-beaten, it was sadly out of place in its brave attire in that vaulted chamber. It was the face of a man who ruled by terror; who commanded by might. It was the face of an adventurer, too, one never sure of his position, but always ready to fight for it, and able to fight well. There was a watchful, alert, inquiring look in the fierce blue eyes, an intent, expectant expression in the craggy countenance, that told of the uncertainties of his assumptions; yet the lack of assurance was compensated for by the firm, resolute line of the mouth under the trifling upturned mustache, with its lips at the same time thin and sensual. To be fat and sensual is to appear to mitigate the latter evil with at least a pretence at good humor; to be thin and sensual is to be a devil. This man was evil, not with the grossness of a debauchee but with the thinness of the devotee. And he was an old man, too. Sixty odd years of vicious life, glossed over in the last two decades by an assumption of respectability, had swept over the gray hairs, which evoked no reverence. There was a heavy frown on his face on that summer evening in the year of our Lord, 1685. The childless wife whom he had taken for his betterment and her worsening, some ten years since--in succession to Satan only knew how many nameless, unrecognized precursors--had died a few moments before, in the chamber above his head. Fairly bought from a needy father, she had been a cloak to lend him a certain respectability when he settled down, red with the blood of thousands whom he had slain and rich with the treasure of cities that he had wasted, to enjoy the evening of his life. Like all who are used for such purposes, she knew, after a little space, the man over whom the mantle of her reputation had been flung. She had rejoiced at the near approach of that death for which she had been longing almost since her wedding day. That she had shrunk from him in the very articles of dissolution when he stood by her bedside, indicated the character of the relationship. To witness death and to cause it had been the habit of this man. He marked it in her case, as in others, with absolute indifference--he cared so little for her that he did not even feel relief at her going--yet because he was the Governor of Jamaica (really he was only the Vice-Governor, but between the departure of the Royal Governor and the arrival of another he held supreme power) he had been forced to keep himself close on the day his wife died, by that public opinion to which he was indifferent but which he could not entirely defy. Consequently he had not been on the strand at Port Royal when the _Mary Rose_, frigate, fresh from England, had dropped anchor in the harbor after her weary voyage across the great sea. He did not even yet know of her arrival, and therefore the incoming Governor had not been welcomed by the man who sat temporarily, as he had in several preceding interregnums, in the seats of the mighty. However, everybody else on the island had welcomed him with joy, for of all men who had ever held office in Jamaica Sir Henry Morgan, sometime the chief devil of those nefarious bands who disguised their piracy under the specious title of buccaneering, was the most detested. But because of the fortunate demise of Lady Morgan, as it turned out, Sir Henry was not present to greet My Lord Carlingford, who was to supersede him--and more. The deep potations the old buccaneer had indulged in to all outward intent passed harmlessly down his lean and craggy throat. He drank alone--the more solitary the drinker the more dangerous the man--yet the room had another occupant, a tall, brawny, brown-hued, grim-faced savage, whose gaudy livery ill accorded with his stern and ruthless visage. He stood by the Vice-Governor, watchful, attentive, and silent, imperturbably filling again and again the goblet from which he drank. "More rum," said the master, at last breaking the silence while lifting his tall glass toward the man. "Scuttle me, Black Dog," he added, smiling sardonically at the silent maroon who poured again with steady hand, "you are the only soul on this island who doesn't fear me. That woman above yonder, curse her, shuddered away from me as I looked at her dying. But your hand is steady. You and old Ben Hornigold are the only ones who don't shrink back, hey, Carib? Is it love or hate?" he mused, as the man made no answer. "More," he cried, again lifting the glass which he had instantly drained. But the maroon, instead of pouring, bent his head toward the window, listened a moment, and then turned and lifted a warning hand. The soft breeze of the evening, laden with the fragrance of the tropics, swept up from the river and wafted to the Vice-Governor's ears the sound of hoof beats on the hard, dry road. With senses keenly alert, he, also, listened. There were a number of them, a troop possibly. They were drawing nearer; they were coming toward his house, the slimmer house near Spanish Town, far up on the mountain side, where he sought relief from the enervating heats of the lower land. "Horsemen!" he cried. "Coming to the house! Many of them! Ah, they dismount. Go to the door, Carib." But before the maroon could obey they heard steps on the porch. Some one entered the hall. The door of the drawing-room was abruptly thrown open, and two men in the uniform of the English army, with the distinguishing marks of the Governor's Guard at Jamaica, unceremoniously entered the room. They were fully armed. One of them, the second, had drawn his sword and held a cocked pistol in the other hand. The first, whose weapons were still in their sheaths, carried a long official paper with a portentous seal dangling from it. Both were booted and spurred and dusty from riding, and both, contrary to the custom and etiquette of the island, kept their plumed hats on their heads. "Sir Henry Morgan----" began the bearer of the paper. "By your leave, gentlemen," interrupted Morgan, with an imperious wave of his hand, "Lieutenant Hawxherst and Ensign Bradley of my guard, I believe. You will uncover at once and apologize for having entered so unceremoniously." As he spoke, the Governor rose to his feet and stood by the table, his right hand unconsciously resting upon the heavy glass flagon of rum. He towered above the other two men as he stood there transfixing them with his resentful glance, his brow heavy with threat and anger. But the two soldiers made no movement toward complying with the admonition of their sometime superior. "D'ye hear me?" he cried, stepping forward, reddening with rage at their apparent contumacy. "And bethink ye, sirs, had best address me, who stand in the place of the King's Majesty, as 'Your Excellency,' or I'll have you broke, knaves." "We need no lessons in manners from you, Sir Henry Morgan," cried Hawxherst, angry in turn to be so browbeaten, though yesterday he would have taken it mildly enough. "And know by this, sir," lifting the paper, "that you are no longer Governor of this island, and can claim respect from no one." "What do you mean?" "The _Mary Rose_ frigate arrived this morning, bringing Lord Carlingford as His Majesty's new Governor, and this order of arrest." "Arrest? For whom?" "For one Sir Henry Morgan." "For what, pray?" "Well, sir, for murder, theft, treason--the catalogue fills the paper. You are to be despatched to England to await the King's pleasure. I am sent by Lord Carlingford to fetch you to the jail at Port Royal." "You seem to find it a pleasant task." "By heaven, I do, sir!" cried the soldier fiercely. "I am a gentleman born, of the proudest family in the Old Dominion, and have been forced to bow and scrape and endure your insults and commands, you bloody villain, but now----" "'Tis no part of a soldier's duty, sir, to insult a prisoner," interrupted Morgan, not without a certain dignity. He was striving to gain time to digest this surprising piece of news and thinking deeply what was to be done in this entirely unexpected crisis. "Curse it all, Hawxherst!" Ensign Bradley burst out, pulling at the sleeve of his superior. "You go too far, man; this is unseemly." Hawxherst passed his hand across his brow and by an effort somewhat regained his self-control. "Natheless 'tis in this paper writ that you are to go to England a prisoner on the _Mary Rose_, to await the King's pleasure," he added, savagely. "His Gracious Majesty hath laid his sword upon my shoulder. I am a knight of his English court, one who has served him well upon the seas. His coffers have I enriched by--but let that pass. I do not believe that King Charles, God bless him----" "Stop! The _Mary Rose_ brings the news that King Charles II. is dead, and there reigns in his stead His Gracious Majesty King James." "God rest the soul of the King!" cried Morgan, lifting his hat from his head. "He was a merry and a gallant gentleman. I know not this James. How if I do not go with you?" "You have ten minutes in which to decide, sir," answered Hawxherst. "And then?" "Then if I don't bring you forth, the men of yonder troop will come in without further order. Eh, Bradley?" "Quite so, Sir Henry," answered the younger man. "And every avenue of escape is guarded. Yield you, sir; believe me, there's naught else." "I have ten minutes then," said the old man reflectively, "ten minutes! Hum!" "You may have," answered the captain curtly, "if you choose to take so long. And I warn you," he added, "that you'd best make use of that time to bid farewell to Lady Morgan or give other order for the charge of your affairs, for 'twill be a long time, I take it, before you are back here again." "Lady Morgan is dead, gentlemen, in the room above." At this young Bradley removed his hat, an example which Hawxherst followed a moment after. They had always felt sorry for the unfortunate wife of the buccaneer. "As for my affairs, they can wait," continued Morgan slowly. "The game is not played out yet, and perchance I shall have another opportunity to arrange them. Meanwhile, fetch glasses, Carib, from yonder buffet." He nodded toward a huge sideboard which stood against the wall immediately in the rear of Ensign Bradley, and at the same time shot a swift, meaning glance at the maroon, which was not lost upon him as he moved rapidly and noiselessly in obedience. "Gentlemen, will you drink with me to our next merry meeting?" he continued, turning to them. "We're honest soldiers, honorable gentlemen, and we'll drink with no murderer, no traitor!" cried Hawxherst promptly. "So?" answered Morgan, his eye sparkling with baleful light, although he remained otherwise entirely unmoved. "And let me remind you," continued the soldier, "that your time is passing." "Well, keep fast the glasses, Carib, the gentlemen have no fancy for drinking. I suppose, sirs, that I must fain yield me, but first let me look at your order ere I surrender myself peaceably to you," said the deposed Governor, with surprising meekness. "Indeed, sir----" "'Tis my right." "Well, perchance it may be. There can be no harm in it, I think; eh, Bradley?" queried the captain, catching for the moment his subaltern's eye. Then, as the latter nodded his head, the former extended the paper to Morgan. At that instant the old buccaneer shot one desperate glance at the maroon, who stood back of the shoulder of the officer with the drawn sword and pistol. As Hawxherst extended the paper, Morgan, with the quickness of an albatross, grasped his wrist with his left hand, jerked him violently forward, and struck him a vicious blow on the temple with the heavy glass decanter, which shivered in his hand. Hawxherst pitched down at the Governor's feet, covered with blood and rum. So powerful had been Morgan's blow that the brains of the man had almost been beaten out. He lay shuddering and quivering on the floor. Quickly as Morgan struck, however, Carib had been quicker. As the glass crashed against the temple of the senior, the maroon had wrenched the pistol from the junior soldier's hand, and before he realized what had happened a cold muzzle was pressed against his forehead. "Drop that sword!" cried Morgan instantly, and as the weapon fell upon the floor, he continued, smiling: "That was well done, Black Dog. Quite like old times, eh?" "Shall I fire?" asked Carib, curling his lips over his teeth in what passed with him for a smile. "Not yet." "Your Excellency," gasped poor Bradley, "I didn't want to come. I remonstrated with him a moment since. For God's sake----" "Silence, sirrah! And how much time have I now, I wonder?" He looked at his watch as he asked the question. "Three minutes! Three minutes between you and instant death, Ensign Bradley, for should one of your men enter the room now you see what you would have to expect, sir." "Oh, sir, have mercy----" "Unless you do exactly what I say you will be lying there with that carrion," cried Morgan, kicking the prostrate body savagely with his jewelled shoes. "What do you want me to do? For God's sake be quick, Your Excellency. Time is almost up. I hear the men move." "You are afraid, sir. There still want two minutes----" "Yes, yes, but----" "Go to the window yonder," cried the old man contemptuously--whatever he was he was not afraid--"and speak to them. Do you, Carib, stand behind, by the window, well concealed. If he hesitate, if he falter, kill him instantly." "Pistol or knife?" "The knife, it makes less noise," cried the buccaneer, chuckling with devilish glee. "Only one minute and a half now, eh, Mr. Bradley?" "They're coming, they're coming!" whispered Bradley, gasping for breath. "Oh, sir----" "We still have a minute," answered Morgan coolly. "Now, stop them." "But how?" "Tell them that you have captured me; that my wife is dead; that you and Lieutenant Hawxherst will spend the night here and fetch me down to Port Royal in the morning; that I have yielded myself a prisoner. Bid them stay where they are and drink to your health in bottles of rum, which shall be sent out to them, and then to go back to Port Royal and tell the new Governor. And see that your voice does not tremble, sir!" There was a sudden movement outside. "If they get in here," added Morgan quickly, "you are a dead man." Bradley, with the negro clutching his arm, ran to the window. With the point of his own sword pressed against the back of his neck he repeated the message which Morgan had given him, which was received by the little squadron with shouts of approbation. He turned from the window, pale and trembling. Moistening his lips he whispered: "I stopped them just in time." "Well for you that you did," said Morgan grimly. "Come hither! Face that wall! Now stand there! Move but a hair's-breadth, turn your head the thousandth part of a degree, and I run you through," he added, baring his sword. "Rum for the men without, Carib," he added, "and then tell me when they are gone." While the two were left alone in the room, Morgan amused himself by pricking the unfortunate officer with the point of the weapon, at the same time enforcing immobility and silence by the most ferocious threats of a speedy and cruel death. The men outside drank noisily and presently departed, and the half-breed came back. "Bind this fool," Morgan commanded briefly. "Then bid the slaves keep close in their cabins on pain of my displeasure--they know what it is. Then fetch the fastest horse in the stable to the front door. Get my riding-boots and cloak, and before you go hand me that little desk yonder. Be quick about it, too, for time presses, although I have more of it than these gentlemen would have allowed me." As the maroon, after carefully lashing the officer with a seaman's expertness, rushed out to busy himself in carrying out these commands, Morgan opened the desk which he had handed to him and took from it several rouleaux of gold and a little bag filled with the rarest of precious stones; then he made a careful examination of the body on the floor. "Not quite dead yet," he murmured, "but there is no use wasting shot or thrust upon him, he won't survive that blow. As for you, sir," looking at the paralyzed ensign, lying bound upon the floor, "you thought you could outwit the old buccaneer, eh? You shall see. I dealt with men when you were a babe in arms, and a babe in arms you are still. Ho! Ho!" He laughed long and loudly, though there was neither mirth nor merriment in his sinister tones. The blood of the poor listener froze in his veins at the sound of it. The brief preparations which Morgan had indicated as necessary for the journey were soon made. [Illustration: With the point of his own sword pressed against the back of his neck, he repeated the message which Morgan had given him.] He was always promptly obeyed by his own people; the slaves fled his presence when they could as if he had been a pestilence. At a sign from his taciturn body-servant at the open door that the horse was ready, he rose to his feet. "Shall I kill this one now?" asked the maroon. Morgan looked at the young man reflectively. The tongue of the ensign clave to the roof of his mouth; the sweat stood out on his forehead; he could not utter a word from fright. He was bound and trussed so tightly that he could not make a move, either. His eyes, however, spoke volumes. "Well," said Sir Henry deliberately, "it would be a pity to kill him--" he paused; "in a hurry," he added. "Dead men tell no tales." "Eh, well, we can take care of that. Just lay him near his friend, lock the doors when I am gone and set the place on fire. The people are all out of the house. See they remain away. 'Twill make a hot, glorious blaze. You know the landing opposite Port Royal?" The half-breed nodded. "Meet me there as quick as you can. Lose no time." "Aye, aye, sah," answered the Carib. "And Lady Morgan, sah?" "Let her burn with the other two. She is so saintly she may like the fire, for I am afraid there will be none where she has gone. Good-by, Master Bradley. You allowed me ten minutes. I take it that this house will burn slowly at first, so perhaps you may count upon--let us say--half an hour. I'm generous, you see. Harry Morgan's way! 'Tis a pity you can't live to take my message to Lord Carlingford. The next time he sends any one for me let him send men, not fools and--cowards." "You villain! You cursed, murdering villain!" gasped Bradley at last. "To our next meeting, Mr. Bradley, and may it be in a cooler place than you will be in half an hour!" CHAPTER II HOW MASTER BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD, THE ONE-EYED, AGREED TO GO WITH HIS OLD CAPTAIN Close under the towering walls of the old Spanish fort, now for a quarter of a century dominated by the English flag, as if seeking protection from its frowning battlements with their tiers of old-fashioned guns, stood the Blue Anchor tavern. It had been a famous resort for the bold spirits of the evil sort who had made Port Royal the base of their operations in many a desperate sea venture in piracy in the two decades that had just passed; but times had changed, even if men had not changed in them. [Illustration] The buccaneer had been banished from the Caribbean. Whereupon, with a circumspect prudence, he had extended his operations into the South Seas, where he was farther from civilization, consequently harder to get at, and, naturally, more difficult to control. Since the sack of Panama, twenty-five years before, his fortunes had been rapidly declining. One of the principal agents in promoting his downfall had been the most famous rover of them all. After robbing his companions of most of their legitimate proportion of the spoils of Panama, Sir Henry had bought his knighthood at the hands of the venal Charles, paying for it in treasure, into the origin of which, with his usual careless insouciance, his easy-going majesty had not inquired any too carefully. And the old pirate had settled down, if not to live cleanly at least to keep within the strict letter of the law. There was thereafter nothing he abhorred so thoroughly as buccaneering and the buccaneer--ostensibly, that is. Like many a reformed rake this gentle child of hell, when the opportunity came to him with the position of Vice-Governor, endeavored to show the sincerity of his reformation by his zealous persecution. He hanged without mercy such of his old companions in crime as fell into his clutches. They had already vowed vengeance upon him, these sometime brethren of the coast, for his betrayal of their confidence at Panama; they had further resented his honor of knighthood, his cloak of respectability, his assumption of gentility, and now that he hanged and punished right and left without mercy, their anger and animosity were raised to the point of fury, and many of them swore deeply with bitter oaths that if they ever caught him defenceless they would make him pay dearly in torture and torment for these various offences. He knew them well enough to realize their feelings toward him, and blind fate affording him the opportunity of the upper hand he made them rue more bitterly than ever their wild threats against him. He had, moreover, so conducted himself in his official position that everybody, good, bad, and indifferent, on the island hated him. Why he had not been assassinated long since was a mystery. But he was a dangerous man to attack. Absolutely fearless, prompt, decisive, resourceful, and with the powers and privileges of the office he held besides, he had so far escaped all the dangers and difficulties of his situation. Charles had constantly befriended him and had refused to give ear either to the reiterated pleas of the islanders for his removal, or to the emphatic representations of the Spanish court, which, in bitter recollection of what he had done--and no more cruel or more successful pirate had ever swept the Caribbean and ravaged the Spanish Main--were persistently urged upon his notice. But with the accession of James the situation was immediately altered. The new monarch had at once acceded to the demand of the Spanish Ambassador, presented anew at this opportune time, and a new Governor of Jamaica was despatched over the sea with orders to arrest Morgan and send him to England. Hawxherst, who, in common with all the officers of the insular army, hated the bloodstained villain whom fortune had placed over them, had solicited Lord Carlingford to allow him to execute the order, with what success we have seen. The news of the long-wished-for downfall of the tyrant had been spread abroad and formed the one topic of conversation in Port Royal and the vicinity that day. Now the work of the day was over and, as usual, the Blue Anchor tavern was crowded with men from the frigate and other shipping in the harbor, mingling with others from the purlieus of the town. Fumes of rum and spirits pervaded the tobacco-smoked barroom which served as the main parlor of the inn. It was yet early in the evening, but the crowd, inflamed with liquor, was already in uproarious mood. Over in the corner a young Englishman was singing in a rich, deep voice a new song by a famous poet of London town: "Let us sing and be merry, dance, joke and rejoice, With claret and sherry, theorbo and voice! The changeable world to our joy is unjust, All treasure's uncertain, Then down with your dust; In frolics dispose your pounds, shillings and pence, For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence. We'll sport and be free, with Frank, Betty and Dolly, Have lobsters and oysters to cure melancholy; Fish dinners will make a man spring like a flea, Dame Venus, love's lady, Was born of the sea; With her and with Bacchus we'll tickle the sense. For we shall be past it a hundred years hence." It was a popular song, evidently, for the whole assembly joined in the chorus-- "In frolics dispose your pounds, shillings and pence, For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence." They roared it out in the deep bass voices of the sea, marking the time by hammering in unison upon the oaken tables with their pewter mugs and flagons. The sentiment seemed to suit the company, if the zest with which they sang be any criterion. Care was taken to insure a sufficient pause, too, after the chorus between each of the verses, to permit the drinking, after all the essential part of the evening's entertainment, to be performed without hindrance. There was one man, however, from the post of honor which he occupied at the head of the table evidently held in high consideration among the habitués of the inn, who did not join in the singing. He was a little man, who made up for his shortness of stature by breadth of shoulder and length of arm. There was an ugly black patch over his left eye; no one had ever seen him without that patch since the day of the assault on the fort at Chagres; an Indian arrow had pierced his eye on that eventful day. Men told how he had gone to the surgeon requesting him to pull it out, and when the young doctor, who had been but a short time with the buccaneers, shrank from jerking the barb out in view of the awful pain which would attend his action, had hesitated, reluctant, the wounded man had deliberately torn out the arrow, and with oaths and curses for the other's cowardice had bound up the wound himself with strips torn from his shirt and resumed the fighting. His courage there, and before and after, although he was an illiterate person and could neither read nor write, had caused him to be appointed boatswain of the ship that had carried Morgan's flag, and he had followed his leader for many years with a blind devotion that risked all and stuck at nothing to be of service to him. It had been many years since Master Benjamin Hornigold, coming down from bleak New England because he found his natural bent of mind out of harmony with the habits and customs of his Puritan ancestors, had drifted into buccaneering under the flag of his chief. He was an old man now, but those who felt the force of his mighty arms were convinced that age had not withered him to any appreciable degree. Aside from Morgan, Hornigold had loved but one human creature, his younger brother, a man of somewhat different stamp, who had been graduated from Harvard College but, impelled by some wild strain in his blood and by the example of his brother, had joined the buccaneers. There were many men of gentle blood who were well acquainted with the polite learning of the day among these sea rovers from time to time, and it is related that on that same Panama excursion when "from the silent peak in Darien" they beheld for the first time after their tremendous march the glittering expanse of the South Seas, with white Panama in its green trees before them, the old cry of the famous Ten Thousand, "Thalatta! Thalatta! The sea! The sea!" had burst from many lips. All his learning and refinement of manner had not prevented young Ebenezer Hornigold from being as bad at heart as his brother, which is saying a great deal, and because he was younger, more reckless, less prudent, than he of riper years, he had incautiously put himself in the power of Morgan and had been hanged with short shrift. Benjamin, standing upon the outskirts of the crowd jesting and roaring around the foot of the gibbet, with a grief and rage in his heart at his impotency, presently found himself hating his old captain with a fierceness proportioned to his devotion in the past. For he had appealed for mercy personally to Morgan by the memory of his former services and had been sternly repulsed and coldly dismissed with a warning that he should look to his own future conduct lest, following in the course of his brother, he should find himself with his neck in the noose. Morgan, colossal in his conceit and careless in his courage, thought not to inquire, or, if he gave the subject any consideration at all, dismissed it from his mind as of little moment, as to what was the subsequent state of Hornigold's feelings. Hornigold could have killed Morgan on numberless occasions, but a consuming desire for a more adequate revenge than mere death had taken hold of him, and he deferred action until he could contrive some means by which to strike him in a way that he conceived would glut his obsession of inexpiable hatred. Hornigold had reformed, outwardly that is, and was now engaged in the useful and innocent business of piloting ships into the harbor, also steering their crews, after the anchors were down, into the Blue Anchor tavern, in which place his voice and will were supreme. He had heard, for Lord Carlingford had made no secret of his orders, that his old master was to be arrested and sent back to England. The news which would have brought joy to a lesser villain, in that it meant punishment, filled him with dismay, for such was the peculiarity of his hatred that he wanted the punishment to come directly from him--through his agency, that is. He desired it to be of such character that it should be neither speedy nor easy, and he lusted most of all that Morgan should know in his last hours--which Hornigold prayed Satan might be long ones--to whom he was indebted for it all. And, strange as it may seem, there was still a certain loyalty of a distorted, perverted kind, in the man's breast. No matter what Morgan had done, no one else should punish him but himself. He would even have fought for his sometime chief, were it necessary, against the King or his law, if need be. He was therefore very much disturbed over what he heard. Had it been possible he would have warned Morgan immediately of his purposed arrest, but he had been detained on the frigate by necessary duties from which he could find no means of escape until too late. He had, however, a high sense of Sir Henry's courage and address. He hoped and believed that he would not be taken by such men as Hawxherst and Bradley; but if he were, Hornigold made up his mind to rescue him. There was a little islet in the Caribbean just below Hispaniola, in whose wooded interior still lurked some of the old-time buccaneers, proscribed men, who, from time to time, did pirating in a small way on their own account; just enough to keep their hands in. If the worst came, Hornigold, who with his little pinnace had kept in touch with them secretly, could assemble them for the rescue of their old captain. Then the former Governor, in his power and in their possession, could be disposed of at their leisure and pleasure. All these things had busied the man during the evening, and he sat even now in the midst of the revelry about him, plunged in profound thought. Unobserved himself, he had taken account of every man who was present. He knew all the habitués of the port, and enjoyed a wide acquaintance among the seamen whose vessels frequented the harbor. He decided there were then in that room perhaps twenty men upon whom he could depend, proper inducement being offered, for almost any sort of service. Among these were five or six superior spirits whom he knew to be tried and true. There was young Teach, the singer of the evening, a drunken, dissolute vagabond, who had been discharged from his last ship for insubordination and a quarrelsome attack upon one of his officers, for which he had narrowly escaped hanging as a mutineer. The man was as bold as a lion, though; he could be trusted. There, too, was Rock Braziliano, a Portuguese half-breed, and hobnobbing with him was Raveneau de Lussan, a Frenchman--prime seamen and bold fellows both. Further down the table, the huge Dutchman, Velsers, was nodding stupidly over his rum. These men and a few others were veterans like Hornigold himself. They were the best of the lot, but for the most part the assemblage was made up of the sweepings of the town, men who had the willingness to do anything no matter how nefarious it might be, their only deterrent being lack of courage. Hornigold's single eye swept over them with a fierce gleam of contempt, yet these were they with whom he must work in case of necessity. One or two others in whom he reposed confidence, men who composed the crew of his own pinnace, he had sent off early in the evening to Spanish Town to gather what news they could. One of them came in and reported that the squadron of horse which had gone up with the officers to bring back Morgan had come back without him and without the officers. The spy's insignificance prevented him from learning why this was, but hope instantly sprang up in Hornigold's breast upon receipt of this news. Knowing Morgan as he did, he was convinced that he had found some means to dispose of the two officers and send away the cavalry. He was not unprepared, therefore, when he saw the tall form of the maroon appearing in the doorway through the smoke. No one else noticed the silent Carib's entry, and he stood motionless until Hornigold's eye fastened upon him. Then by an imperceptible move of his head he indicated a desire to speak with him without the room. The one-eyed nodded slightly in token that he understood, and the maroon vanished as silently as he had come. Waiting a few moments, Hornigold rose from his seat and began threading his way through the boisterous crowd toward the door. Thrusting aside detaining hands and answering rude queries with an old sailor's ready banter, bidding them on no account to cease the festivities because of his departure, and in fact ordering a new draught of rum for all hands, he succeeded in breaking away under cover of the cheers which greeted this announcement. It was pitch dark outside and he stopped a moment, hesitating as to what he should do. He had no doubt but that the maroon had a message for him from his master. But a second had elapsed when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. His hand went instantly to the seaman's hanger at his side and he faced about promptly. A ready man was Master Hornigold. "It's I, bo's'n," whispered a familiar voice. "You, Black Dog? Where's your master?" "Yonder." "Let me see him." A tall, slender figure muffled in a heavy riding-coat sat in the stern sheets of a small boat in the deepest shadow of one of the silent and deserted piers. "Captain Morgan?" whispered Hornigold softly, as followed by the maroon he descended the landing stairs leading toward the boat. "'Tis you, Master Hornigold," answered the man, with an accent of relief in his voice, thrusting the pistol back into his belt as he spoke. He, too, was a ready man with his weapons and one not to be caught napping in any emergency. "Me it is, sir," answered the boatswain, "and ready to serve my old captain." "You heard the news?" "I heard it on the frigate this afternoon." "Why did you not send me warning?" "I had no chance. I'd 'a' done it, sir, if I could have fetched away." "Well, all's one. I've laid those two landlubbers by the heels. Eh, Carib?" "Where are they, sir?" "I might make a guess, for I left them bound and the house blazing." "'Tis like old times!" "Ay! I've not forgot the old tricks." "No, sir. And what's to do now?" "Why, the old game once more." "What? You don't mean----" "I do. What else is there left for me? Scuttle me, if I don't take it out of the Dons! It's their doing. They've had a rest for nigh twenty years. We'll let it slip out quietly among the islands that Harry Morgan's afloat once more and there's pickings to be had on the Spanish Main--wine and women and pieces of eight. Art with me?" "Ay, of course. But we lack a ship." "There's one yonder, man," cried Morgan, pointing up the harbor, where the lights of the _Mary Rose_ twinkled in the blackness. "To be sure the ship is there, but----" "But what?" "We've no force. The old men are gone." "I am here," answered Morgan, "and you and Black Dog. And there are a few others left. Teach is new, but will serve; I heard his bull voice roaring out from the tavern. And de Lussan and Velsers, and the rest. I've kept sight of ye. Curse it all, I let you live when I might have hanged you." "You did, captain, you did. You didn't hang everybody--but you didn't spare, either." It would have been better for the captain if it had been lighter and he could have seen the sudden and sharp set of Master Hornigold's jaws, which, coupled with the fierceness which flamed into his one eye as he hissed out that last sentence, might have warned him that it would be safer to thrust his head into the lion's mouth than altogether to trust himself to his whilom follower. But this escaped him in the darkness. "Listen," he said quickly. "This is my plan. In the morning when Hawxherst and Bradley do not appear, the new Governor will send more men. They will find the house burned down. No one saw us come hither. There will be in the ruins the remains of three bodies." "Three?" "Yes. My Lady Morgan's." "Did you kill her?" "I didn't have to. They'll think that one of them is mine. No hue or cry will be raised and no search made for me. Do you arrange that the crew of the _Mary Rose_ be given liberty for the evening yonder at the Blue Anchor. They've not been ashore yet, I take it?" "No, but they will go to-morrow." "That's well. Meanwhile gather together the bold fellows who have stomach for a cruise and are willing to put their heads through the halter provided there are pieces of eight on the other side, and then we'll take the frigate to-morrow night and away for the Spanish Main. That will give us a start. We'll pick up what we can along the coast first, then scuttle the ship, cross the Isthmus, seize another and have the whole South Seas before us--Peru, Manila, wherever we will." "The King has a long arm." "Yes, and other kings have had long arms too, I take it, but they have not caught Harry Morgan, nor ever shall. Come, man, wilt go with me?" "Never fear," answered Hornigold promptly. "I've been itching for a chance to cut somebody's throat." He did not say it was Morgan's throat, but the truth and sincerity in his voice carried conviction to the listening captain. "Thou bloody butcher!" he laughed grimly. "There will be plenty of it anon." "Where will you lay hid," asked the boatswain, "until to-morrow night?" "I have thought of that," said Morgan promptly. "I think the best place will be the cabin of your pinnace. I'll just get aboard, Black Dog here and I, and put to sea. To-morrow night at this hour we'll come back here again and you will find us here at the wharf." "A good plan, Master Morgan," cried Hornigold, forgetting the title as the scheme unfolded itself to him. "What's o'clock, I wonder?" As he spoke the sound of a bell tapped softly came floating over the quiet water from the _Mary Rose_. "Four bells," answered Morgan listening; "at ten of the clock, then, I shall be here." "Leave the rest to me, sir," answered Hornigold. "I shall. That will be your boat yonder?" "Ay. Just beyond the point." "Is anybody aboard of her?" "No one." "Is there rum and water enough for one day?" "Plenty. In the locker in the cuddy." "Good! Come, Carib. Until to-morrow night, then!" "Ay, ay, sir," said Hornigold, leaning over the pier and watching the boat fade into a black blur on the water as it drew away toward the pinnace. "He's mine, by heaven, he's mine!" he whispered under his breath as he turned and walked slowly up to the house. Yet Master Hornigold meant to keep faith with his old captain. He was sick and tired of assumed respectability, of honest piloting of ships to the harbor, of drinking with worthy merchantmen or the King's sailors. The itch for the old buccaneering game was hard upon him. To hear the fire crackle and roar through a doomed ship, to lord it over shiploads of terrified men and screaming women, to be sated with carnage and drunk with liquor, to dress in satins and velvets and laces, to let the broad pieces of eight run through his grimy fingers, to throw off restraint and be a free sailor, a gentleman rover, to return to the habits of his earlier days and revel in crime and sin--it was for all this that his soul lusted again. He would betray Morgan, yet a flash of his old admiration for the man came into his mind as he licked his lips like a wolf and thought of the days of rapine. There never was such a leader. He had indeed been the terror of the seas. Under no one else would there be such prospects for successful piracy. Yes, he would do all for him faithfully, up to the point of revenge. Morgan's plan was simple and practicable. De Lussan, Teach, Velsers and the rest would fall in with it gladly. There would be enough rakehelly, degraded specimens of humanity, hungry and thirsty, lustful and covetous, in Port Royal--which was the wickedest and most flourishing city on the American hemisphere at the time--to accompany them and insure success, provided only there would be reward in women and liquor and treasure. He would do it. They would all go a-cruising once more, and then--they would see. He stayed a long time on the wharf, looking out over the water, arranging the details of the scheme outlined by Morgan so brilliantly, and it was late when he returned to the parlor of the Blue Anchor Inn. Half the company were drunk on the floor under the tables. The rest were singing, or shouting, or cursing, in accordance with their several moods. Above the confusion Hornigold could hear Teach's giant voice still roaring out his reckless refrain; bitter commentary on their indifference it was, too-- "Though life now is pleasant and sweet to the sense, We'll be damnably moldy a hundred years hence." "Ay," thought the old buccaneer, pausing in the entrance, for the appositeness of the verses impressed even his unreflective soul, "it will be all the same in a hundred years, but we'll have one more good cruise before we are piped down for the long watch in." He chuckled softly and hideously to himself at the fatalistic idea. By his orders, enforced by the vigorous use of seamen's colts, the inn servants at once cleared the room of the vainly protesting revellers. Those whose appearance indicated a degree of respectability which promised payment for their accommodation, were put to bed; the common sort were bundled unceremoniously out on the strand before the door and left to sober up as best they might in the soft tropic night. Teach, Raveneau, and the Brazilian were detained for conference with the boatswain. To these worthies, therefore, Hornigold unfolded Morgan's plan, which they embraced with alacrity, promising each to do his share. Velsers was too stupidly drunk to be told anything, but they knew they could count upon him without fail. CHAPTER III IN WHICH SIR HENRY MORGAN FINDS HIMSELF AT THE HEAD OF A CREW ONCE MORE The next morning, after waiting a reasonable time for a message from the two soldiers at Spanish Town, Lord Carlingford, the new Governor, who had taken up his residence temporarily at Port Royal, summoned his attendants, and himself repaired to the seat of Government to ascertain why no further report had been received from his officers. Great was his astonishment when he found that the residence of the Vice-Governor had been destroyed by fire during the night. The frightened slaves could tell nothing. Morgan and Carib had taken care that no one had marked their departure. Consequently when the search of the ruins revealed the remains of three bodies, so badly charred as to be unrecognizable, it was naturally inferred at first that they were those of the buccaneer and the two unfortunate officers. It was known among the people of the place, however, that Lady Morgan had been seriously ill, so ill that she could not have been removed, and there were some who suspected that one of the bodies was hers and that the arch-fiend himself had by some means disposed of the officers and escaped. Therefore a hue and cry was raised for him and a strict search instituted by order of the Governor, who, after setting affairs in motion, returned to Port Royal. Troops were accordingly ordered out, and even details of surly seamen, growling at being deprived of their accustomed shore liberty, were detailed from the frigate, which happened to be the only war vessel in commission in the harbor. Hornigold, Raveneau, and one or two of the others known to be former companions of the buccaneer, were closely interrogated, but they stoutly declared they did not know his whereabouts and had seen nothing of him. Later in the afternoon it was observed that Hornigold's pinnace was not in the harbor. Indeed, with cunning adroitness that master mariner himself called attention to the fact, cursing the while his old commander for his alleged theft of the boat, and declaring his willingness to join in the search for him. It was known to the authorities that the execution of the boatswain's brother by Morgan had shattered the old intimacy which subsisted between them; consequently his protestations were given credence and suspicion of collusion was diverted from him. Lord Carlingford finally determined to send the _Mary Rose_ to sea in an endeavor to overhaul the pinnace, in the hope that the former Vice-Governor might be found on her, although the chances of success were but faint. The frigate, however, was not provisioned or watered for a cruise, after her long voyage from England. There had been considerable scurvy and other sickness on the ship and she was in no condition to weigh anchor immediately; she would have to be re-supplied and the sick men in her crew replaced by drafts from the shore. Besides, in accordance with the invariable custom, the great majority of the men had been given shore leave for that afternoon and evening, and those few who were not on duty were carousing at the Blue Anchor Inn and similar taverns and would be utterly unable to work the ship, should they be called upon to do so, without being given a chance to sober up. This would take time, and Lord Carlingford upon the representations of his sea officers decided to wait until the morrow before commencing work. One secret of Morgan's success was the promptness with which he struck. Nobler and better men could have learned a lesson from this old buccaneer, notably the Governor. As he could do so, not only personally but through his able lieutenants, Hornigold busied himself during the day and the preceding night in enlisting as vicious a gang of depraved ruffians as could be gathered together in what was perhaps the wickedest city in the world. It had been decided after conference between the leaders that there was no place within the confines of Port Royal itself where so many men could meet without exciting suspicion. He had accordingly appointed a rendezvous for the night across the narrow entrance to the harbor, opposite the fort, under the trees which overshadowed the strand, some distance back from high-water mark. Singly or in groups of two or three, the men had gone across in boats after sunset, successfully eluding observation, for the night was moonless and very dark. There was no room, indeed, for suspicion on the part of the authorities, save in the bare fact of the possible escape of Morgan; but it had been twenty years since that worthy had gone buccaneering, and, except in the minds of his former companions and participants, much of the character of his exploits had passed out of mind. No special watch was kept, therefore, in fort or town or on the ship. Morgan was gone certainly, but nothing was feared from a single proscribed man. There was rum in plenty under the trees on the point, but care was taken by Rock Braziliano, Raveneau, and the others, even including Velsers, that no one should drink enough to lose entire control of his faculties or to become obstreperous. Just enough was given to make the timid bold, and the hardy reckless. They knew the value of, and on occasion could practise, abstinence, those old buccaneers, and they were determined to keep their men well in hand. No fires were lighted, no smoking permitted. Strict silence was enjoined and enforced. It was perhaps ten o'clock before all were assembled. When morning had cleared their brains of the rum they had taken, there had been ferocious opposition on the part of the older men. Not that they objected to buccaneering. They were eager for the chance once more, but the memory of Morgan's betrayals of his old comrades rankled deep. There were many beside Hornigold who had promised themselves the luxury of vengeance upon their old commander. There were none, however, who had so dwelt upon it as the boatswain, nor were there any whose animosity and determination compared to his fierce hatred. He was therefore able, at last, to persuade them into a surly willingness to accept Morgan as their captain in this new enterprise. Indeed, without him they could do nothing, for there was no one who possessed the ability or experience to lead them save he. The best men of the old stamp were now in the South Seas and far away; they had been driven from the Caribbean. It was not difficult for Hornigold to show them that it must be Morgan or no one. Their feelings of animosity were, perforce, sunk beneath the surface, although they smouldered still within their breasts. They would go with him, they said. But let him look to himself, they swore threateningly. If he betrayed them again, there were men among them who would kill him as remorselessly as they would stamp on a centipede. If he behaved himself and the expedition on which he was to lead them proved successful, they might forgive him--all but old Hornigold. Truth to tell, there was no one among them who felt himself so wronged or so badly treated as the one-eyed envenomed sailor. The bulk of the party, which numbered perhaps one hundred men, were simply plain, ordinary thieves, cut-throats, broken-down seamen, land sharks and rascals. Not much was to be expected of them. They were not of the stuff of which the old-time buccaneers had been made, but they were the best to be obtained at that time in Port Royal. Even they would not have been so easily assembled had they realized quite what was expected of them. They knew, of course, that they were committing themselves to some nefarious undertaking, but to each recruit had been vouchsafed only enough information to get him to come to the rendezvous--no more. They were a careless, drunken, dissolute lot. By Hornigold's orders they were told off in five parties of about twenty each, commanded respectively by himself, Velsers, Raveneau, the Brazilian, and the last by Teach, who, though the youngest of the leaders, had a character for daring wickedness that would stop at nothing. With much difficulty the boatswain had succeeded in obtaining five boats, each capable of carrying one band. Every one brought his own arms, and in general these men did not lack a sufficiency of weapons. Those who were deficient, however, were supplied from a scanty stock which the leaders had managed to procure. All was in readiness, when one of the men who had been stationed on the extreme edge of the beach toward the channel reported the approach of a small boat looking like the pinnace. The wind, fortunately for the enterprise, happened to be blowing fresh out of the harbor and it was necessary for the pinnace to beat up toward the entrance. She showed no lights, but, as she tacked in close to the shore, between the watcher and the lights of the town, he observed her. The boat was handled with consummate skill; she dropped anchor and hauled down her sails noiselessly just abreast the pier which had been appointed the rendezvous by the two men on the night before. As soon as Hornigold learned of the approach he took a small boat, leaving Velsers in command of the band on shore, and repaired with the other leaders to the wharf on the other side. As the boat approached the wharf it was hailed in a sharp whisper. "Who comes?" cried the voice on shore. "Hornigold!" answered the boatswain in a low tone, as the boat swept alongside. "So, 'tis you, is it?" cried Morgan, attended by the maroon as usual, again putting his pistol back into his belt. "Seeing so many of you in the skiff, I feared a trap until you gave the word." "I've brought along Raveneau, the Brazilian, and young Teach," said the boatswain. "Welcome, my hearties, all!" said the Vice-Governor softly. "We're off to the Spanish Main with a good ship, plenty of liquor beneath the hatches, brave hearts to run her. There will be plenty of pickings meet for any man. Are you with me?" "Ay, ay, sir!" "We are," answered one and another. The place where they stood was lonely and deserted at that time of night, but Hornigold suggested that they immediately repair to the other side, there to perfect their further plans. Indeed, they had no plans as yet. There was not head enough among them to concoct the details of the scheme, although no better instruments for an expedition than the chief and those assembled under him could be gathered together. They had waited for Morgan. "You speak well," answered the captain. "Are all preparations made?" "All we could make without you, captain," replied Hornigold as the party re-entered the boat. "How many men have you gathered?" "About five score." "Boats?" "Five." "Will they carry all?" "With a little crowding." "Who leads each boat?" "I, one, sir, with your permission; Raveneau here, another; the Brazilian, the third; young Teach, a fourth, and Velsers----" "Where is he?" "With the rest of the men--the fifth." "Good! Are they all armed?" "Every man has a sword and a pistol at least." "What of the men?" "A poor lot," answered Teach, recklessly. "A dastardly crew." "Will they fight, think ye?" "Curse me, they'll have to fight; we'll make them!" said Hornigold. "Do they know what's up?" "Not exactly," answered Raveneau, the Frenchman, a man of good birth and gentle manners, but as cruel and ruthless a villain as any that ever cut a throat or scuttled a ship. "Have no fear, captain," he continued smoothly. "Once we start them, they will have to fight." "Did you ever know me to show fear, de Lussan?" cried the captain bending forward and staring at the Frenchman, his eyes glittering in the darkness like those of a wildcat. "No, captain." "No, nor did any other man," answered Morgan, and from where he sat Hornigold marked the little dialogue and swore in his heart that this man who boasted so should beg for his life at his hand, with all the beseeching pity of the veriest craven, before he finished with him. But for the present he said nothing. After a short pause, Morgan resumed: "Have they suspected my escape?" "They have," answered the boatswain. "They found the remains of the three bodies in the burned house this morning. At first they thought one of them was yours, but they decided after a while that one was a woman, and they guessed that you had made away with the officers and escaped. I told them you had stolen my pinnace and got away." "You did, eh?" "Yes." "And he swore and cursed you roundly, captain," interposed the Brazilian chuckling maliciously. "Aye, sir, he swore if he got hands on you he would give you up." Morgan turned this time to Hornigold. He was by no means sure of his position. He knew the enmity of these men, and he did not know how far their cupidity or their desire to take up the old life once more under such fortunate auspices as would be afforded under his command would restrain them. "Master Ben Hornigold, said ye that?" he queried. "Would ye betray me?" His hand stole to his waist and his fingers closed around his pistol grip. "No fear, captain," answered that worthy composedly, sustaining the captain's searching gaze. A braver man never stepped a deck than he. "I did it to divert their attention. You see, they fancied at first that we old sea-dogs might have something to do with your escape, but I undeceived them. They reckoned that you had been hard on us and that we might be hard on ye----" "No more of this, gentlemen, the past is gone. We begin again," cried Morgan fiercely. "And mark me, the man who betrays Harry Morgan will not live many minutes to boast of it! I'd kill him if he sat on the steps of a throne. Easy there!" he called out to the oarsmen, assuming the command as by right, while the boat's keel grated on the shingle. "All out now and lead the way. Nay, gentlemen, you shall all precede me. Carib, here, will bring up the rear. And it may be well for you to keep your weapons in your belts." Much impressed, the little party disembarked and walked rapidly toward the place of assemblage, under the trees. Morgan and the maroon came last, each of them with a bared sword and cocked pistol. "Lads," said Hornigold, as they approached the men, "here's your captain, Sir Henry Morgan." "The Governor!" cried one and another, in surprise and alarm. The man had been a terror to evildoers too poor to bribe. "Nay, men, Governor no more," Morgan answered promptly. "A free sailor who takes the sea against the Spanish Dons. We'll go buccaneering as in the old days. These men here," pointing to the group of officers, "can tell you what it means. You have heard tales of the jolly roving life of the brethren-of-the-coast. We'll do a little picking in the Caribbean, then over the Isthmus, and then down into the South Seas. There's wine and women and treasure to be had for the taking. The Spaniards are cowards. Let them hear that Harry Morgan is once more on the sea under the Jolly Roger and they will tremble from Darien down to the Straits of Magellan. It will be fair play and the old shares. Who's with me?" "I!" "I!" "I!" broke from the bolder spirits of the crowd, and the rest, catching the contagion, finally joined in the acclaim. "Easy," said the captain, "lest we be heard. Hornigold, is there liquor?" "Plenty, sir." "Let each man have a noble draught, then to the boats." "But, captain," spoke up Sawkins, one of the boldest recruits, who was not in the secret, "be ye goin' buccaneerin' in boats? Whar's the ship?" "I have a ship in the harbor," cried Morgan, "well found and provided." "Ay, but what ship?" "Confusion, sir!" shouted Morgan. "Begin ye by questioning me? Into the boat with your comrades! Velsers, de Lussan, Rock see that the men get into the boats as soon as they have their dram. And hark ye, gentlemen, a word with ye!" calling them apart while the rest were being served. "Put the boldest men in the stern sheets with yourselves, the rest at the oars, and do you have your weapons ready. The _Mary Rose_ lies just within the bar. You, Velsers and Rock, gain the fo'c'sl from larboard and starboard. You, Teach and Raveneau, board at the different gangways. Hornigold, I'll go in your boat and we'll attend to the cabin. Let all be done without noise. No pistols, use the blade. Take no prisoners and waste no time. If we gain the deck without difficulty, and I think we can, clap to the hatch covers and we'll cut cable and get under way at once." The men had been embarking in the boats rather reluctantly as he spoke, but presently all was ready. Finally Hornigold and then Morgan with the maroon stepped into the last boat, first making sure there were no stragglers left behind, and Morgan gave the command: "Shove off!" Sawkins, the bold spirit who had spoken before, presumed, in spite of the commander's threat, to open his mouth again as the boats slowly left the beach, rowing through the passage and up the harbor against the ebb just beginning; he pulled the stroke oar in Hornigold's boat. "Before I go further," he cried, "I want to know what ship we're goin' aboard of." "Ay!" came in a subdued roar from the men behind him, who only needed a leader to back out of the enterprise, which, as it threatened to involve fighting, began to seem not quite so much to their taste. "What ship?" "The frigate," answered Hornigold shortly. "What! The _Mary Rose_! The King's ship!" cried the men, ceasing to row. In an instant Morgan's pistol was out. His motion was followed by Hornigold and the maroon. "Row, you dogs!" he cried fiercely. The stroke oarsman hesitated, although the others tried to pick up the stroke. "I give you one minute, then I blow out your brains, pull out the plug in this boat, and we'll all go to hell together," said Morgan truculently to the recalcitrant men. "Row, for your life's sake!" cried the man behind Sawkins, hitting him in the back with the haft of the oar. "It's the King's ship!" "What do we care for the King?" said Morgan. "He is the law, and none of us love the law. Two-thirds of her crew are drunk, t'other third are ashore or sick. They are unprepared, asleep. There'll be naught but the anchor watch. One sharp blow, and we have the frigate--then away. What fear ye, lads?" By such words as these, but more by the threatening appearance of the weapons pointed from the stern sheets, Morgan inspirited his men; and by similar language and threats, the men in the other boats did the same. After rowing a short distance the flotilla separated. Those approaching from the farther side of the ship necessarily made a wide détour, for which the others waited, so they would all arrive simultaneously. After a suitable time the order was passed softly to give way again. In perfect silence, broken only by the "cheep" of the oars in the locks, the five boats swept down on the doomed frigate. CHAPTER IV WHICH TELLS HOW THE "MARY ROSE" FRIGATE CHANGED MASTERS AND FLAGS [Illustration] The _Mary Rose_ was a ship with a history. The battle roster of the English navy had borne many of her name. In each instance she had been found in the thickest of the fighting. The present vessel was an old ship, having been built some thirty years before, but she was still stanch and of a model which combined strength with speed. The most conspicuous expedition she had participated in had been a desperate defence of a convoy in the Mediterranean against seven Sallee rovers, in which, after a hard engagement lasting four hours, the _Mary Rose_ triumphed decisively without losing a single sail of her convoy. A rude song was made about the action, and the two lines of the ballad, summing up the results, were painted around the wheel: "Two we burnt, and two we sank, and two did run away, And one we carried to Leghorn Roads, to show we'd won the day." The commander of the ship on this memorable and heroic occasion had been knighted on his return to England, and on the accession of James had been sent to Jamaica with Lord Carlingford as Vice-Governor, to take command of the naval station and supersede Morgan. Admiral Sir John Kempthorne was an elderly man at this time, but his spirit was the same that had enabled him to withstand so successfully the overwhelming onslaught of the Algerine pirate ships. The English navy, however, was then in a state of painful decay. The famous Test Act, which excluded James from the naval service while he was Duke of York, because he was a Roman Catholic, had deprived the navy of its most influential and able friend. The greedy rapacity with which Charles II. had devoted the money assigned by the Commons for the support of the fleet to his own lustful and extravagant purposes, the favoritism and venality which he allowed in the administration of the Admiralty, and the neglect with which he viewed the representations of Pepys and others as to the condition of his fleets, had reduced the navy of England, which had won such immortal glory under Blake, to the very lowest depth it ever reached. The ships were in bad repair and commanded by landsmen who shirked going to sea; they were ill-found, the wages of the seamen not paid--in short, they presented pictures of demoralization as painful as they were unusual. Kempthorne, having been a tried and a successful naval commander in his younger days, had striven, with some success so far as his own ship was concerned, to stem the prevailing tide of ruin, and the _Mary Rose_ was perhaps one of the best frigates in the service, which, however, was not saying a great deal. He could not, of course, better the character of the crew which had been provided for him, nor could he entirely re-supply the ship, or make good her faulty and deficient equipment, but he did the best he could. Under ordinary circumstances he could have given a good account of himself if engaged with even the perfectly appointed ships of the Dutch Republic, or of the Grand Monarch himself. Indeed, in spite of the horrible degeneracy, the prestige of victory was still, as it has ever been, with England. King James, a successful, even brilliant naval commander in his youth, had decided to rehabilitate the navy with a view to putting it on its old footing, and with that object in view he had sent one of his best admirals across the sea to the important island of Jamaica, then the headquarters of the West India Squadron. Kempthorne had welcomed the duty, and had determined that so far as the station at Port Royal was concerned he would make it the model one of the colonies, of the kingdom itself for that matter, provided he were sustained by the King as had been promised. Lord Carlingford, with the zeal of a new appointee, had promised his coöperation. The admiral was seated in the cabin of the frigate that night cogitating upon his plans, when his thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of oars, indicating the arrival of a boat. The sound of the approaching boat came faintly through the open stern windows of the cabin under the high poop-deck. The ship was more or less deserted. The sick men had been put ashore; most of the crew, and the officers as well, had followed them. They would not be back until the morrow, when Sir John had orders to get away in pursuit of Hornigold's pinnace. With the captain in the cabin, however, was the old master of the ship, a man who had been promoted to that rank after the famous fight with the Algerines because of his gallantry in that action. Kempthorne was consulting with him about the necessary arrangements before sailing the next day. As the admiral heard the noise made by the oars in the oarlocks he raised his voice, and calling a sentry, for there was half a platoon of soldiers on board who had not yet been allowed liberty (the beginnings of the Royal Marine of England, by the way), he bade him ascertain if the approaching boat was that containing the Governor. It was still early evening, and Lord Carlingford had announced his intention of sleeping in the ship, for the weather was intensely warm and he thought it might be cooler in the harbor than in the crowded low-lying town of Port Royal. At the same time the admiral arose, buckled on his sword, and made ready to go on deck to meet Lord Carlingford, should it prove to be his expected visitor. Pausing a moment to say a final word to the master, he was conscious of something striking the ship. Before he could formulate the idea that a boat must have been hit in the bends, there were several similar shocks. The old master, who happened to be unarmed, stepped forward. "That will be a boat, sir," he said quickly, "striking against the side of the ship. There's another, and another!" His voice indicated surprise and some apprehension. What could it be? "Let us go on deck at once," said Kempthorne, stepping forward. As he did so the silence was broken by a wild, terrified cry. A moment after, the sentry on the quarter-deck outside the entrance to the poop cabin fired his piece. The shot was followed by the sound of a fierce blow, and then a heavy fall. A sharp, imperious voice cried quickly: "The ship is ours! Waste no time! Overboard with him! Clap to the hatch covers!" The necessity for concealment outside was apparently at an end. The heavy covers were flung down upon the hatches and secured. The ship was filled with a confused babel of many voices and trampling feet. At the sound of the shot, the admiral and the master sprang to the door, but before they could pass the entrance it was flung violently open, and a man richly dressed after the fashion of Jamaica, followed by a tall, savage-looking half-breed, a compound of negro and Indian, clad in a gorgeous livery, each with pistol and sword, sprang into the room and forced the two men back. As soon as he could recover himself Kempthorne whipped out his sword. He found himself covered, however, as did the master, with a pistol. "Throw down your sword!" cried Morgan fiercely, "and yield yourselves without quarter." "Who are you that ask?" "Sir Henry Morgan." "You bloody villain!" cried Kempthorne. "Dare you attempt to take the King's ship?" "That for the King!" answered Morgan, waving his sword. "Who are you?" "Sir John Kempthorne, Admiral and Vice-Governor of Jamaica." "You would fain fill my station, would you, sir?" "I would not descend to the station of a pirate, a robber, a murderer, a----" "S'death, silence!" roared Morgan furiously. "The ship is ours! I've a message for the King. Wilt carry it?" "I would not insult my royal master by carrying a message from such as you." "You will have it!" shouted Morgan, white with rage, lunging forward at him. Their blades crossed in an instant, and at the same moment the old master, reckless of what happened, flung himself between the two. There was a roar from Carib's pistol, and the old man fell. As Kempthorne relaxed his guard slightly in the confusion Morgan ran him through. The admiral fell so suddenly that he jerked the blade, buried in his breast, out of the buccaneer's hand. "God--" he gasped, as he lay upon the body of the old sailor, "God--save the--King." "Would'st sit in my place, eh?" cried Morgan, laughing truculently as he turned on his heel and left the cabin. Beneath the hatches, the platoon of soldiers and the men there imprisoned were yelling and making a tremendous racket. They were helpless, however, and could do nothing. The men of the boarding parties were clustered in groups forward and aft and around the closed passageways into the interior of the ship, waiting for the next order. The noise and confusion which had followed the sentry's bold shot had awakened the attention of the people of the town. Lights twinkled on the ramparts of the fort, and the long roll of a drum could be heard coming faintly up the harbor against the wind. Lord Carlingford had just entered his boat to board the ship. There was not a moment to lose. "Hornigold, go forward with your men to the forecastle. Velsers, come you hither with yours for the after guard. Teach, to the fore; Raveneau, to the main; and Rock, to the mizzenmast. Loose sail. Lively now. We must get out of this before the fort's awake," cried Morgan. [Illustration: Their blades crossed in an instant.... There was a roar from Carib's pistol, and the old man fell.] Instantly the shrouds were covered with nimble forms making their way aloft where the wide yard-arms stretched far over the sea. The men were in good spirits. The capture of the ship had been so easy; there had been only the anchor watch and the sentry on deck to deal with, and they had been murdered unsuspecting, although the cabin sentry had killed one of the attacking party and wounded another before he went down. They jumped with alacrity, therefore, to obey their captain's commands. As the ponderous sheets of canvas fell from the yards, the men lay down from aloft, and sheets and halyards were manned, the cable that moored the vessel to the anchor was cut, the ship swung to starboard, the yards were braced in, and she began to slip through the water toward the narrow mouth of the harbor. There were other war vessels in the harbor, but they were all dismantled and laid up in ordinary, so the buccaneers had no pursuit to fear. The guns of the fort commanded the harbor mouth, and under ordinary circumstances would have made it impossible for a ship to enter or leave without permission. The mouth was narrow and dangerous, but the best pilot in the West Indies stood forward leaning over the knightheads, conning the ship. Raveneau and Velsers, than whom no better seamen ever held a spoke, by Morgan's orders were stationed at the wheel to steer the frigate. Rock and Teach distributed the best of the men among the guns of the spar-deck battery on the port side. As was usual, the guns were already charged. There were no loggerheads available, no matches with which to fire them, but Morgan instructed those who seemed to have some skill in gunnery, whom he placed in temporary charge of the cannon, how to fire them by snapping their pistols at the touch-holes, which were primed from a powder horn that had been brought by the pirates. The land breeze was fresh and strong, and the _Mary Rose_ vindicated her claim to be considered a fast sailer. She fairly ripped down the harbor, threading her way through the channel under Hornigold's nice pilotage until she came near to the narrow entrance. By Morgan's orders each man remained motionless at the place where he had been stationed, and the ship, so far as human noise was concerned, was as still as death. Even the soldiers below, finding no attention paid to their cries, had subsided into comparative quiet. The silence was broken only by the creaking of cordage, the dashing of water against the bows, and the groaning of the timbers. Ever and anon Hornigold's deep voice, crying "Larboard" or "Starboard" as the case might be, rolled along the deck to the watchful men gripping the wheel. Suddenly the old buccaneer cried out sharply: "There's a boat right ahead, sir." "Run her down!" answered Morgan instantly. "Ay, ay! Starboard! Starboard again! Let her go off another half-point. Steady! Very well dyce. Now! Meet her! Meet her!" The ship swept around slightly and rushed directly at the boat. It was the boat of the Governor. Instantly wild cries arose from the men on the thwarts. They were stopped by a stern voice. "Ahoy, the _Mary Rose_!" Silence. "Ahoy, the frigate! What are you doing? Where is Admiral Kempthorne?" At that instant the soldiers beneath the hatches suddenly resumed their commotion, thus apprising the men in the boat that something was sadly wrong. "Larboard your helm!" cried a voice from the boat, "or you'll be on us. Who's in command? What are you about?" "Sir Harry Morgan!" shouted a voice out of the darkness. "And we mean to run you down." "Back water, for God's sake! Stern, all!" cried Lord Carlingford to the paralyzed rowers; but before they could move the looming bow of the frigate was upon them. Carlingford had risen in his boat before the collision, and with dauntless courage he shook his bared sword in the darkness toward the ship. "The King will triumph!" he cried. "You can go to hell!" shouted Morgan, "with Hawxherst and Bradley and Kempthorne and all who oppose me." A terrible, smashing crash cut short his words, and, amid the ripping, tearing sound of the parting timbers of the overridden boat, and shouts, cries, and appeals for mercy, the _Mary Rose_ swept on. One or two beneath her forefoot leaped frantically at the bobstays, but they were driven from their holds by savage pike thrusts from Hornigold's men. A wild yell of elation broke from the pirates. They were completely possessed by their success now, but Morgan stopped the noise in an instant. "Silence!" roared the captain. "We are not yet free. Back to your stations! Stand by the larboard battery!" At that time the entrance to the harbor was very narrow, and the channel swept close under the Port Royal shore. Everybody in the town knew that something had happened on the frigate. The garrison of the fort was out and the guns were loaded and bore fair upon the channel. Softly, for they were within earshot distance of the fort, Morgan passed the word to train the guns of the battery on the parapet of the fort. He also told off all the men with small arms to line the side, with instructions for them to fire at the port-holes of the fort as they passed, and he charged every one, under pain of death, to keep all fast until he gave the word. Hornigold bent all his mind to getting the ship safely out of the harbor. Two or three reliable men were stationed in the gangway, whose sole business it was to repeat his commands without fail during the confusion, no matter what happened. They were right in the entrance now, and coming opposite the fort. The men below were still keeping up a great noise, but a hail which came across the water from the rampart was entirely audible, the distance not being more than half pistol shot. "Hello, the _Mary Rose_! Hello, the frigate!" "Ay, ay! What is it?" "Where are you going? Where's Lord Carlingford?" There was no answer. The rapidly moving ship was fairly abreast the fort now. In thirty seconds she would be beyond it. "We have killed the Governor and Kempthorne, and this is the ship of Sir Henry Morgan, bound for the Spanish Main on a buccaneering cruise. Fire!" A perfect hail of shot at point blank range belched forth from the twenty-four guns of the larboard battery of the onrushing ship. In the surprise and confusion caused by this murderous discharge at short range, the frigate slipped by, and although every gun in the fort, whether it bore or not, was finally discharged by the infuriated soldiery, no serious damage was done to the ship. Here and there a man fell. The starboard main topsail sheet was cut, a few ropes parted, but that was all. Pouring a perfect hail of musketry and pistol fire upon the surprised garrison, which did execution, the frigate slipped through the channel. Before the cannon could be reloaded they were out of range. There before them lay the open sea, bounded to the southward by the rich and unprotected cities of the Spanish Main. "We're out of the harbor, sir," cried Hornigold, coming aft to where Morgan stood triumphant on the poop. "That's well!" said the commander. "Secure the guns and muster the crew. We'll divide into watches and bear away to the southward." "Long live Sir Henry Morgan, King of the Buccaneers!" cried a voice out of the darkness, and amid a tremendous roar of cheers the vessel swept away, leaving the lights of Port Royal twinkling faintly in the distance far behind them. BOOK II THE CRUISE OF THE BUCCANEERS AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE SEAS CHAPTER V HOW THE "MARY ROSE" OVERHAULED THREE SPANISH TREASURE SHIPS Ten days after her departure from Port Royal the _Mary Rose_ was tumbling southward before a gentle breeze through the blue and languid seas. Much had happened in the interval. In the first place, Morgan had organized and drilled the ship's crew relentlessly. With the aid of the five principal adventurers, whom he had constituted his lieutenants, he had brought the motley crowd which he had shipped into a state of comparative efficiency and of entire subjection to his iron will. Years of quasi-respectability, of financial position, of autocratic power as Vice-Governor had modified the ideas of the old buccaneer, and the co-operative principle which had been the mainspring of action as well as tie which produced unity among the brethren-of-the-coast had ceased to be regarded, so far as he was concerned. He took care, however, to be upon fairly amicable terms with the officers in command and the veterans, though he treated the rest of the riff-raff like the dogs they were. They murmured and raged but did not revolt, although it was quite possible that if he pushed them too far, and they found a leader, they might make trouble. In accordance with Hornigold's advice, after deliberation between Morgan and the leaders, the _Mary Rose_ had first run up to La Vaca Island, south of Hispaniola, and the number of original marauders had been increased by fifty volunteers, all those, indeed, who could be reached, from the small pirates who made that delectable spot their rendezvous. In addition to those, the crew had also been reënforced largely from those of the unpaid and discontented seamen and soldiers of the frigate who had happened to be under hatches the night of the capture. Presented with the choice of instant death or adherence to the band, most of them had accepted the latter alternative, although, to their great credit be it said, not until one or two of the loyal veterans, who had hotly refused to have anything to do with their ruffianly captors, had been forced to walk the plank as an example to the rest should they prove recalcitrant. Partly through terror, partly through discontent, partly on account of promises of the great reward awaiting them, speciously urged by Morgan himself, for he could talk as well as he could fight, and, most of all, because even at that date it was considered a meritorious act to attack a Spaniard or a Papist under any circumstances or conditions, especially by persons as ignorant as the class in question, some seventy cast in their lot with the rest. Among the two hundred and twenty members of the heterogeneous crew so constituted, were to be found natives of almost every race under the sun, even including one or two Spanish renegados, and it would be safe to say that the lowest and meanest representatives of the several races were assembled on that very ship. The officers and men who had been recruited from Isla La Vaca, as well as the older original members of the crew of the _Mary Rose_, together with a select few of the remainder, were men of approved courage. The officers, indeed, bore reputations for hardihood and daring not to be surpassed. Most of the rest, however, were arrant cowards. As a body the band could not compare, except in leadership, with the former bands of buccaneers who had made themselves and their names a terror to Latin civilization in the New World. Morgan himself, however, almost made up for all deficiencies. Age had not quenched his ardor, diminished his courage, or deprived him of that magnetic quality which had made him an unquestioned leader of men. His eye was as keen, his hand as steady, his soul as reckless, and his skill as high as when he had led the greatest buccaneer fleet that had ever assembled, on the famous Panama expedition. Everybody on the ship hated him except young Teach and the faithful Black Dog; the old buccaneers because he had betrayed them, the soldiers and sailors of the crew because he had captured their ship and forced them to become his allies, the mean and lowly body of rascals because he kept them ruthlessly under hand. But they all feared him as much as they hated him and they admired him as much as they feared him. So far as he was concerned discipline was absolute. He still seemed to fancy himself the Vice-Governor and the representative of that King against whom he had taken up arms. He demanded to be treated accordingly. No admiral of the fleet was ever served more promptly and respectfully than he. Even his nearest associates were treated with a certain haughtiness, which they bitterly resented and which they would have called in question had the situation been other than it was. Truth to tell, influenced by Hornigold, they had embarked upon a mad enterprise, and they needed Morgan to bring it to a successful conclusion. Without him the slender coherence which already existed would fail, and anarchy would be the state upon the ship. There would be nothing left to them but to scatter if they could make an unheeded landing at some convenient place, or be captured, if they could not, with a certainty of being hung forthwith. So long as they remained together, it was certain that Morgan would lead them on some successful enterprise and they might get some reward for their risks and crimes. In his safety lay their safety. The buccaneer was entirely aware of this, and therefore counted freely upon the backing of the veterans among the officers and crew. He would take care of the rest. The ship, however, was a floating colony of suspicion, treachery, and hatred. Morgan himself never appeared without being loaded with weapons, not for bravado but for use should occasion rise, and his back was always protected by the silent and gigantic maroon, whom the sailors, catching the title from those who had known him of old, referred to with malignant hatred as "Black Dog." That was a name, indeed, which the taciturn half-breed rather rejoiced in than resented. Morgan had been able to awaken love in no hearts except those of young Teach, whose feeling was admiration rather than affection, and this half-breed maroon. Whether it was from his black African mother or from his fierce red Carib father he inherited the quality of devotion was not apparent. Devoted he had been and devoted he remained. Close association in the narrow confines of the ship with the man who had, as he believed, wronged him, had but intensified Hornigold's hatred. The One-Eyed found it difficult to dissemble, and took refuge in a reticence which was foreign to his original frank and open character. Morgan half suspected the state of affairs in his old boatswain's moiled and evil soul, and he watched him on account of it more closely than the others, but with no great disquiet in his heart. Truth to tell, the old pirate was never so happy as in the midst of dangers, imminent and threatening, which would have broken the spirit of a less resolute man. There was one among the officers he was sure of and upon whom he could depend in an emergency, and that was young Teach. He had flattered him by unusual marks of kindness, and alone among the officers this fellow did not seem to cherish the rancor and suspicion of the others. He was too young to have experienced a betrayal as had the rest; this was his first venture in actual piracy and he found it marvelously pleasant. The officers, too, were all suspicious of one another. As each one nursed his own private designs he suspected the others of doing likewise--and with reason. But there was as yet little outward friction among them. Raveneau, for instance, was most scrupulously polite to the captain and his associates. Velsers was too stupid in his cups--and he was generally in them--to do more than growl, and the Brazilian had all the capacities of his race for subtle concealment. Although the necessary orders for working the ship were obeyed and Morgan personally imposed implicit obedience and respect for his commands, no duties other than those required were performed by the men. During the day when not at work or at drill, they drank, smoked, gambled, and fought at pleasure, although, as the captain mercilessly exercised them during long hours at the great guns and with small arms, they did not have any too much leisure for play. During the night they kept watch and watch, of course, but in it all they took no care of the ship, and filth and dirt abounded. If they had anticipated a long cruise things would necessarily have been different, but as they had gone far to the southward now, and might make a landfall at any moment there was no necessity for bothering about mere cleanliness, which, as it is supposed to be next to godliness, was naturally far removed from this band of cut-throats. Morgan had not communicated his ultimate purposes to his men as yet, but as he was the only navigator on the ship he was, perforce, allowed to have his own way. Breakfast had been served--a meagre breakfast it was, too, for all hands were on short allowance of everything but spirits, on account of the unprovided state of the ship. Fortunately for their contentment, there was plenty of rum on board. The men were congregated forward on the forecastle or in the waist, wrangling and arguing as usual. The officers gathered on the quarter-deck, and Morgan paced the high raised poop alone, overlooking them, when the lookout suddenly reported three sail in sight. The half-drunken sailor who had been sent aloft at daybreak had kept negligent watch, for almost as soon as he had made his report the ships were observed from the deck of the frigate. The _Mary Rose_ had the wind on her quarter, her best point of sailing, and she was covered with canvas from her trucks to her decks, from her spritsail yard to her huge mizzen crossjack, a lateen sail. The wind was light, but she was making rapid progress toward the approaching strangers, who, with their larboard tacks aboard, were beating up toward the English. Attended by the maroon, Morgan, pistol in hand, went forward to the forecastle, kicking his way clear through the sullen, black-browed mass of sailors. He ran a short distance up the weather fore-shrouds and took a long look at the strangers. They all flew the yellow flag of Spain. One was a huge galleon, the other two smaller ships, though larger in each instance than the _Mary Rose_, and all heavily armed. One of the plate ships from Porto Bello was due in this latitude about this time, and Morgan instantly surmised that the galleon was she, and that the two others were Spanish frigates to give her safe convoy across the ocean. Spain was at peace with all the world at that time, and the two frigates would have been ample to ward off the attack of any of the small piratical craft which had succeeded the buccaneer ships of the Caribbean. The Spaniards had no idea that such a vulture as Morgan was afloat; therefore, although they had sighted the _Mary Rose_ long before she had seen them because they kept better watch, they came on fearlessly and without hesitation. It was evident to the experienced officers among them that the vessel was an English frigate, and as England was a country with which there was profound peace at the time they apprehended nothing. The position of the approaching ships with reference to one another was somewhat peculiar. The first and smallest frigate was perhaps half a mile ahead of her consorts, who were sailing side by side, a cable's length apart. Morgan at once determined to attack them. He knew that he possessed the handiest ship, and he believed that he had discovered a way to master the other three. The two frigates were the most dangerous antagonists. If he could dispose of them the galleon would be at his mercy. He did not hesitate to encounter such odds, and even in the minds of the craven part of the crew one English ship was thought to be good for any three Spaniards that ever floated. The interest of the crew had been excited by the approaching strangers, which were rapidly drawing nearer. They ceased their arguments and strife, therefore, and crowded forward, looking alternately from the foreign ships to their own leader, lightly poised on the sheer-poles scanning the enemy. There were plenty of men of sufficient experience among them to pronounce them Spanish ships immediately, and they therefore anticipated that work lay before them that morning. Presently Morgan sprang down upon the forecastle and faced his men. "Lads," he said, "those are Spanish ships." "Ay, ay, sir," came from one another as he paused a moment to let the significance of his announcement sink in. "And," he continued, raising his voice so that it was audible throughout the ship, "the great one will be one of the plate ships homeward bound--but she'll never get there--from Porto Bello!" A perfect yell of delight drowned his further remarks. The men shrieked and shouted and hurrahed at the joyous announcement, as if all they had to do was to go aboard and take the ships. When the hullabaloo had subsided, Morgan continued: "I'm glad to see you take it so bravely, for while there is treasure enough under her hatches to make us all rich, yet we'll not get it without a fight, for yonder are two heavily armed frigates. We'll have to dispose of them before we get at the galleon. But, hearts of oak, I never saw the buccaneer who wasn't worth three or a dozen of the Dons, and with a stout ship like this one under my feet and a band of brave hearts like you I wouldn't hesitate to tackle the whole Spanish navy. It means a little fighting, but think of the prize!" he cried, playing skilfully upon the cupidity of his men. "Some of us will lose the number of our messes, perhaps, before nightfall; but," he continued, making a most singular and effective appeal, "there will be more to divide for each man that is left alive. Are you with me?" "To the death!" cried young Teach, who had come forward and mingled with the crowd, lifting a naked cutlass as he spoke. His cry was taken up and repeated, first by one and then another until the whole body was yelling frantically to be given a chance to fight the Spanish ships. "That's well," said Morgan grimly. "Master Teach, here, will command forward on the fo'c'sl. Raveneau and Velsers shall attend to the batteries in the waist. I appoint you, Hornigold, to look after the movements of the ship. See that the best hands are at the wheel and have sail trimmers ready. My Portuguese friend, you may look to the after guns. Now to your stations. Cast loose and provide! Man the larboard battery! See every thing is ready, but hold your fire and keep silence under pain of death! Yon frigate over there, we'll strike first. She'll be unprepared and unsuspecting. One good blow ought to dispose of her." As he spoke, the men hurried to their stations. There was no lack of skill on the frigate, and now was seen the value of Morgan's constant drilling. The cannon of the ship were cast loose and loaded, loggerheads and matches lighted, small arms distributed and primed, pikes were served out, cutlasses loosened in their sheaths, and such as had armor, still worn in greater or less degree even in that day, donned it, and the ship was full of busy preparation. "We've no flag flying, sir," said Hornigold as the men settled down to their stations, grim and ready. "Ay," said Morgan, "show the English flag. We'll make as much trouble for his gracious majesty, King James, as possible." In a short time the glorious colors of England, which had never waved over so despicable a crew before, rippled out in the freshening breeze. As they were rapidly approaching the Spanish ship now, Morgan descended from the poop-deck to make a personal inspection of his frigate before beginning action. He found everything to his taste, and passed along the lines of silent men congregated around the guns with words of stern appreciation. The crews of the guns had been constituted with great care. The gun captains in each instance were tried and proved seamen, men as fearless as they were capable. The weaker and the more wretched portion of the band had been so placed that opportunity for showing cowardice would be greatly circumscribed, and the stern command of the captain that the officers and petty officers should instantly shoot any man who flinched from duty was not without effect. He did not hesitate to remind the men, either, that they fought with halters around their necks. As even the craven becomes dangerous when pushed to the wall, he felt they would give a good account of themselves. "Hornigold," said Morgan, as he stepped up on the quarter-deck again, "I want the frigate to pass as close to windward of that Spanish ship as you can bring her without touching. Let her not suspect our desire, but whirl into her as we get abreast. Don't fall foul of her as you value your life!" "Ay, ay, sir," answered that veteran, squinting forward along the jib-boom with his one eye as if measuring the distance, "I'll bring her close enough for you to leap aboard and yet never touch a rope yarn on her." He spoke with the consciousness and pride of his skill. "Now, lads," cried Morgan, "have everything ready, and when I give the word pour it in on yonder ship. I want to settle her with one broadside. It'll be touch and go, for we've got to dispose of her in an instant. Stand by for the word! Now, lie down, all, behind the bulwarks and rails. Let us make no show of force as we come up. We must not arouse suspicion." The two ships, the _Mary Rose_ going free, the Spanish frigate close hauled on the port tack, were now within hailing distance. As they approached each other the buccaneer could see that the other ship was crowded with men. Among her people the flash of sunlight upon iron helms denoted that she carried a company of soldiers. The Spaniards were entirely unsuspecting. The men had not gone to their quarters, the guns were still secured; in short, save for the military trappings of the soldiers on board and the tompioned muzzles of her cannon, she was in appearance as peaceful a vessel as sailed the seas. The two ships were near enough now to make conversation possible, and the _Mary Rose_ was hailed by a tall, richly dressed officer in glistening breastplate and polished steel cap, standing on the forecastle of the other ship. "What ship is that?" he cried in broken English. "This is the frigate _Mary Rose_." The usual answer to such a hail would have been: "This is His Britannic Majesty's frigate _Mary Rose_," but the Spaniards suspected nothing as Morgan continued, "carrying Sir Henry Morgan, sometime Vice-Governor of the Island of Jamaica." "I have the honor to wish the Vice-Governor a very good morning," answered the Spaniard, courteously waving his hand in salutation. "Now, Hornigold, now!" said Morgan in a fierce whisper. The old boatswain sprang himself to the wheel. With his powerful hands he revolved it quickly until it was hard up. The frigate answered it instantly. She swung away toward the Spaniard to leeward of her with a suddenness that surprised even her steersman. "And I salute the Vice-Governor," continued the Spanish captain, just as the English ship swept down upon him; and then he cried in sudden alarm and excitement: "Have a care, señor! What mean you? You will be aboard of us! Hard up with the helm!" As soon as the _Mary Rose_ had begun to fall off, ay, even before her motion had been perceptible, Hornigold had reversed the helm. "Flow the head sheets there," he cried, shoving the wheel over spoke by spoke with all the force of his arms. "Flatten in aft a little, here! Steady! Very well dyce. We're right abreast now, Captain," he said. Almost as quickly as she had fallen off the nimble frigate, beautifully handled, came to the wind again. She was now almost in touch with the other ship. Hornigold's seamanship and skill had been magnificent. He had done all that was asked of him and all that he had promised. "Ay, ay," answered Morgan in triumphant commendation. "Handsomely done. I could leap aboard!" The Spanish ship was filled with confusion. The captain, with his face black with rage, stood on the forecastle shaking his fist. "This is outrageous, sir!" he shouted. "You have nearly run us down! What do you want?" "I want to return your salute," answered Morgan suavely. "Up, lads!" he cried. As the men sprang to their feet, he roared out fiercely: "Stand by! Fire! Pour it into them!" The _Mary Rose_ was almost in contact with the Spanish ship, when a perfect tornado of fire burst from her side. Every gun in her broadside, and she was a forty-eight gun frigate, was discharged point-blank at the astonished enemy. Not waiting to reload the guns, the crew seized the small arms ready charged to hand, and as they slowly swept by poured a withering fire upon the Spaniard's crowded decks. Out of the flame and smoke the _Mary Rose_ burst upon the astounded eyes of the officers and men of the two remaining ships. The first frigate was a wreck on the water. Some of the pirate guns had been depressed, great holes had been opened by the shot, the masts had been carried away, and the devoted ship was sinking, her decks covered with dead and dying. "We wish you the compliments of the morning, señor," roared Morgan, facing aft toward the battered and ruined frigate. "How like you our salute?" But the captain of the Spanish vessel lay dead upon his bloody deck, and if any answered the jeering taunt it was drowned by the laughter and cheering of the English crew. They had eliminated the first ship from the game. They had diminished their enemies by a third, and full of confidence they swept down upon the other two. CHAPTER VI IN WHICH IS RELATED THE STRANGE EXPEDIENT OF THE CAPTAIN AND HOW THEY TOOK THE GREAT GALLEON Although they could not comprehend the reason for the vicious attack upon their consort by a ship of a supposedly friendly power, it was evident to the Spaniards in the two remaining ships that the English frigate was approaching them with the most sinister and malevolent purpose. One glance at the sinking remains of their ruined and battered consort established that fact in the most obtuse mind. Consequently the exultant men on the _Mary Rose_ could hear the shrill notes of the trumpeters on the two other ships calling their men to arms. [Illustration] With a confidence born of success, however, Morgan resolutely bore down upon the enemy. Even the dastards in his crew had been excited by the ease and success of the first treacherous blow and plucked up courage, believing that their captain's invincible skill, address, and seamanship would carry them safely through the next encounter. The Spanish had little warning after all, for the breeze was rapidly freshening, and in what seemed an incredibly short time the English frigate was close at hand. Though they worked with a desperate energy they had not entirely completed those preparations required by the shock of battle. As usual, Morgan was determined to lose no time. If he could have thrown his vessel upon them out of the fire and smoke of the first broadside he would have gained the victory with scarcely less difficulty than he had seized the first advantage, but that was not to be, and it was with considerable anxiety that he surveyed the crowded decks of the two remaining ships. He had no fear of the armament of either one, but if those Spanish soldiers ever got a footing upon his own deck it was probable they could not be dislodged without a tremendous sacrifice of life; and as he gazed over his motley crew he even questioned their ability to contend successfully with such a mass of veterans. He had hoped that the remaining frigate would detach herself from the galleon, in which event the superior handiness and mobility of his own ship, to say nothing of his probable advantage in the way in which his batteries would be fought, would enable him to dispose of her without too much difficulty. Then he could with ease place the huge and unwieldy galleon at his mercy. But the two Spanish ships stuck close together, too close indeed, Morgan thought, for their own safety. They were both on the wind with their larboard tacks aboard, the frigate slightly ahead of and to windward of the galleon, on the side, that is, whence the _Mary Rose_ was approaching. So far as he could divine it, the Spanish plan, if they had formulated any in their hurry, appeared to be for the frigate to engage the _Mary Rose_, and while she had the latter ship under her battery, the galleon would tack across the English vessel's bows, or stern as might be, rake her, get her between the two ships, run her aboard, and thus effect her ruin. The plan was simple, practicable, and promised easy success, provided the Englishman did what was expected of him. Morgan was not to be caught napping that way. As he rushed down upon them there came into his head one of the most daring ideas that has ever flashed across a seaman's brain. Hastily summoning Braziliano he bade him take a dozen of his men, descend to the after magazine, procure two or three barrels of powder from the gunner, and stow them in the cabin under the poop-deck. He charged him to do it as quietly as possible and take only men for the purpose upon whom he could depend. While this was being done young Teach was also summoned from the forecastle, his place being taken by old Velsers, whose division in the battery was placed under the command of Raveneau. There was a whispered colloquy between the chieftain and his young subordinate, after which the latter nodded his head, ran below, and concealed himself in one of the staterooms under the quarter-deck. In a little space the Portuguese reappeared with his men and announced that they had completed their task; whereupon they were directed to return to their stations. Meanwhile the crew had been recharging the battery and reloading the small arms. Morgan addressed to them a few words of hearty approval of their previous actions and predicted an easy victory over the two ships. The Spanish captain naturally supposed--and indeed the courses upon which the three ships were sailing if persisted in would have brought about the result--that the _Mary Rose_ would pass along his larboard side, and the two vessels would engage in the formal manner of the period, yard-arm to yard-arm, until the galleon could get into action and so settle it in the purposed way. He intended, of course, if it could be brought about, to throw the masses of soldiers he was transporting home upon the English decks, and carry the frigate by boarding. Again Morgan put Hornigold in charge of the manoeuvering of the ship, and again that old worthy chose to handle the spokes himself. There was a brief conversation between them, and then the English captain ran forward on the forecastle. The ships were very near now. In a moment or two they would pass each other in parallel courses, though in opposite direction, and their broadsides would bear; but when the _Mary Rose_ was about a cable's length from the Spanish frigate something happened. The astonished Don heard a sharp command ring out from the approaching English ship, after which she made a wide sweep and came driving straight at him at a furious speed. The English captain intended to run him down! Here was to be no passage along his broadside. The other was upon him! The cutwater of the onrushing ship loomed up before him tremendously. Instantly all was confusion on the Spanish ship! The steersman lost his head, and without orders put his helm up sharply; some one cut the sheet of the after-sail on the huge lateen yard, and the frigate went whirling around on her heel like a top, in a violent and fatal, as well as vain, effort to get out of the road. It was a most foolish manoeuvre, for close at hand on the lee side of her the galleon came lumbering along. Her captain, too, had seen the peril, and had elected to meet it by tacking under his consort's stern. But he was too near, and the other ship fell off and was swept to leeward too rapidly. His own ship, cumbersome and unwieldy, as they always were, was slow in answering the helm. The frigate and galleon came together with a terrific crash. The shock carried away the foretopmast of the frigate, which fell across the head yards of the galleon. The two ships were instantly locked together. They swung drifting and helpless in the tossing waters. Morgan had counted upon this very catastrophe. A twist of the helm, a touch of the braces, and the prow of the _Mary Rose_ swung to windward. As her batteries bore she hurled their messengers of death into the crowded masses on the Spanish ships. Although dismayed by the collision, the gunners on the frigate made a spirited reply with a discharge which at such close range did much execution. Unfortunately for her, the _Mary Rose_ had rushed so close to the two entangled ships that it was impossible for her to escape hitting them. The English captain would have given anything if he could have gone free of the mass, for he could have passed under the stern of the two helpless ships, raked them, and probably would have had them at his mercy; but his dash at them had been an earnest one, and in order to carry out his plan successfully he had been forced to throw his ship right upon them. Therefore, though the helm was shifted and the braces hauled in an effort to get clear, and though the ship under Morgan's conning and Hornigold's steering was handled as few ships have ever been handled, and though it was one of the speediest and most weatherly of vessels, they could not entirely swing her clear. The stern of the frigate crashed against the stern of the nearest Spanish ship drifting frantically to leeward. The Spanish captain, mortified and humiliated beyond expression by the mishap, instantly realized that this contact presented them with a possibility of retrieving themselves. Before the ships could be separated, grappling irons were thrown, and in a second the three were locked in a close embrace. Morgan had anticipated this situation also, although he had hoped to avoid it, and had prepared for it. As the two ships became fast the high poop and rail of the Spaniard were black with iron-capped men. They swarmed over on the lower poop and quarter-deck of the _Mary Rose_ in a dense mass. Fortunately, the small arms on both sides had been discharged a moment before and there had been no time to reload. The remainder of the engagement to all intents and purposes would be fought with the cold steel. Morgan had gained an advantage in throwing the two ships into collision, but he appeared to have lost it again because he had been unable to clear the wrecks himself. The advantage was now with the Spaniards, whose force outnumbered his own two or three to one. Surprising as it was to the old buccaneers and the bolder spirits among his crew, whose blood was up sufficiently to enable them to long for the onset, Morgan had run to the waist of the ship when he saw the inevitable collision and had called all hands from the poop and quarter. The _Mary Rose_ was provided with an elevated quarter-deck and above that a high poop. Massing his men in the gangways just forward of the mainmast and on the forecastle itself, with the hardiest spirits in the front line and Morgan himself in advance of all sword in hand, the two parties contemplated each other for a little space before joining in the onset. The poop and quarter-deck were crowded so thick with Spanish soldiers and sailors that room could scarcely be found for the increasing procession, for, anxious to be in at the death, the men of the galleon clinging to the frigate ran across and joined their comrades. Here were trained and veteran soldiers in overwhelming numbers, with the advantage of position in that they fought from above down, to oppose which Morgan had his motley crew behind him. "Yield, you dastardly villain!" shouted the captain of the Spanish frigate, who was in the fore of his men. "Shall I have good quarter?" cried Morgan. A low growl ran through the ranks of the buccaneers at this question. Yet the rapscallions among the crew back of him instantly took up the cry. "Quarter! Quarter! We surrender! We strike! For heaven's sake----" "Silence!" roared Morgan--an order which was enforced by the officers and veterans by fierce blows with pistol butts, hilts of swords, and even naked fists. "I would hear the answer of the Spanish captain." "We give no quarter to pirates and murderers," the other shouted. "That's what I thought," said Morgan triumphantly, and as he spoke he drew from his pocket a silver whistle like a boatswain's call. He blew it shrilly before the wondering men. At that instant Teach, followed by the few men who had remained below in the powder division, came running up to Morgan from the hatchway between the two forces. "Is't done?" cried the captain. "Ay, sir. In another----" "Forward, gentlemen!" shouted the Spanish captain, dropping from the quarter-deck to the main-deck. "God and St. Jago! Have at them!" Before he had taken two steps the terrific roar of a deafening explosion came to the startled buccaneers out of the blast of flame and smoke, in the midst of which could be heard shrieks and groans of the most terrible anguish. Teach had connected the powder with the fuse, and when he had heard the sound of Morgan's whistle, the agreed signal, he had ignited it and blown up the stern of the frigate. The Spaniards were hurled in every direction. So powerful was the concussion that the front ranks of the buccaneers were also thrown down by it. Morgan happened to fall by the side of the Spanish captain, and the latter, though badly wounded, with determined and heroic valor raised himself on his arm and strove to kill the buccaneer. But the faithful Carib, who had reserved one charged pistol by his master's command for such an emergency, shot him dead. Morgan struggled to his feet and looked at the scene. Some of his men did not rise with the others, for they had been killed by the falling splinters and bits of iron. The whole stern of the _Mary Rose_ was gone. There wasn't a Spaniard left before them. A few figures shrieking vainly for help, clutching at floating pieces of timber, might be seen struggling in the sea. The Spanish frigate had a great hole in the port side of her after-works. She was on fire. The three ships were rocking as if in a hurricane. Panic filled the minds of the greater part of the buccaneers at this tremendous catastrophe. Had Morgan to save himself ruined his own ship? They were appalled by the terrific expedient of their captain. Wild cries and imprecations burst forth. "The ship is sinking!" "We are lost!" "Silence!" shouted Morgan, again and again. "The ship is sinking, but our ship is there. Let those who love life follow me." He sprang at the burning rail of the Spanish frigate. Black Dog was at his heels, Ben Hornigold followed hard upon, Teach was on the other side. From the waist Raveneau and the Brazilian strove to inspire the men. Old Velsers from the forecastle drove them forward as quickly as he could. Presently they recovered their courage in some measure, for the fighting force of the enemy had disappeared. They had lost a ship, but there were two other ships before them. They swarmed over the rail with cheers and cries. There was little or no resistance. The men of the frigate were stunned into helplessness by the explosion, although the captain of the galleon rallied a few men and fought until they were all cut down, and the two ships were taken by storm. They had scarcely gained the deck of the galleon before the remains of the _Mary Rose_ sank beneath the sea, the wounded upon the decks vainly crying for succor. By this time the weather side of the remaining Spanish ship was a mass of flame and there was imminent danger that the fire would be communicated to the galleon. Giving his men time for nothing, Morgan set to work furiously to extricate himself. Axes and hatchets were plied and all the skill and seamanship of the conquerors brought into play. Finally they succeeded in getting clear and working away from the burning frigate. Morgan at once put the galleon before the wind, and when he had drawn away a short distance, hove to the ship to take account of the damage before determining his future course. Far back on the ocean and low in the water drifted the sinking remains of the first Spanish frigate. Near at hand was the hulk of the second ship, now a blazing furnace. The first was filled with living men, many of them desperately wounded. No attention was paid to them by the buccaneers. They cried for mercy unheeded. Anyway their suspense would soon be over. Indeed, the first ship sank and the second blew up with a fearful explosion a short time after they got away. A brief inspection showed that the galleon had suffered little or no damage that could not be repaired easily at sea. Taking account of his men, Morgan found that about twenty were missing. Taking no care for them nor for the two ships he had fought so splendidly, pirate though he was, he clapped sail on the galleon and bore away to the southward. CHAPTER VII WHEREIN BARTHOLOMEW SAWKINS MUTINIED AGAINST HIS CAPTAIN AND WHAT BEFEL HIM ON THAT ACCOUNT [Illustration] The _Almirante Recalde_, for such was the name of the galleon, was easily and speedily repaired by the skilled seamen of the _Mary Rose_ under such leadership and direction as the experience of Morgan and the officers afforded. By the beginning of the first dog-watch even a critical inspection would scarcely have shown that she had been in action. With the wise forethought of a seaman, Morgan had subordinated every other duty to the task of making the vessel fit for any danger of the sea, and he had deferred any careful examination of her cargo until everything had been put shipshape again; although by his hurried questioning of the surviving officers he had learned that the _Almirante Recalde_ was indeed loaded with treasure of Peru, which had been received by her _via_ the Isthmus of Panama for transportation to Spain. On board her were several priests returning to Spain headed by one Fra Antonio de Las Casas, together with a band of nuns under the direction of an aged abbess, Sister Maria Christina. In the indiscriminate fury of the assault one or two of the priests had been killed, but so soon as the ship had been fully taken possession of the lives of the surviving clerics and the lives of the good sisters had been spared by Morgan's express command. These unfortunate women had been forced into the great cabin, where they were guarded by men in whom confidence could be placed. The priests were allowed to minister to their dying compatriots so long as they kept out of the way of the sailors. No feeling of pity or compassion induced Morgan to withhold the women from his crew. He was a man of prudent foresight and he preserved them for a purpose, a purpose in which the priests were included. In the hold of the ship nearly one hundred and fifty wretched prisoners were discovered. They were the crew of the buccaneer ship _Daring_, which had been commanded by a famous adventurer named Ringrose, who had been captured by a Spanish squadron after a desperate defense off the port of Callao, Peru. They were being transported to Spain, where they had expected summary punishment for their iniquities. No attention whatever had been paid to their protests that they were Englishmen, and indeed the statement was hardly true for at least half of them belonged to other nations. In the long passage from Callao to the Isthmus and thence through the Caribbean they had been kept rigorously under hatches. Close confinement for many days and enforced subsistence upon a scanty and inadequate diet had caused many to die and impaired the health of the survivors. When the hatch covers were opened, the chains unshackled and the miserable wretches brought on deck, their condition moved even some of the buccaneers to pity. The galleon was generously provided for her long cruise across the ocean, and the released prisoners, by Morgan's orders, were liberally treated. No work was required of them; they were allowed to wander about the decks at pleasure, refreshed by the open air, the first good meal they had enjoyed in several months, and by a generous allowance of spirits. As soon as they learned the object of the cruise, without exception they indicated their desire to place themselves under the command of Morgan. Ringrose, their captain, had been killed, and they were without a leader, which was fortunate in that it avoided the complications of divided command. Fortunate, that is, for Ringrose, for Morgan would have brooked no rival on such an expedition. As soon as it could be done, a more careful inspection and calculation satisfied the buccaneer of the immense value of his prize. The lading of the galleon, consisting principally of silver bullion, was probably worth not far from a million Spanish dollars--pieces of eight! This divided among the one hundred and eighty survivors of the original crew meant affluence for even the meanest cabin boy. It was wealth such as they had not even dreamed of. It was a prize the value of which had scarcely ever been paralleled. They were assembled forward of the quarter-deck when the announcement was made. When they understood the news the men became drunk with joy. It would seem as if they had been suddenly stricken mad. Some of them stared in paralyzed silence, others broke into frantic cheers and yells, some reeled and shuddered like drunken men. The one person who preserved his imperturbable calmness was Morgan himself. The gratitude of these men toward him was overwhelming. Even those who had good cause to hate him forgot for the time being their animosity--all except Hornigold, whose hatred was beyond all price. Under his leadership they had achieved such a triumph as had scarcely ever befallen them in the palmiest days of their career, and with little or no loss they had been put in possession of a prodigious treasure. They crowded about him presently with enthusiastic cheers of affection and extravagant vows of loving service. All, that is, except Hornigold, whose sense of injury, whose thirst for vengeance, was so deep that all the treasure of Potosi itself would not have abated one jot or one tittle of it. The general joy, however, was not shared by the rescued buccaneers. Although they had but a few hours before despaired of life in the loathsome depths of the vile hold, and they had been properly grateful for the sudden and unexpected release which had given them their liberty and saved them from the gibbet, yet it was not in any human man, especially a buccaneer, to view with equanimity the distribution--or the proposed distribution--of so vast a treasure and feel that he could not share in it. The fresh air and the food and drink had already done much for those hardy ruffians. They were beginning to regain, if not all their strength, at least some of their courage and assurance. They congregated in little groups here and there among Morgan's original men and stared with lowering brows and flushed faces at the frantic revel in which they could not participate. Not even the cask of rum which Morgan ordered broached to celebrate the capture, and of which all hands partook with indiscriminate voracity, could bring joy to their hearts. After matters had quieted down somewhat--and during this time the galleon had been mainly left to navigate herself--Morgan deemed it a suitable occasion to announce his ultimate designs to the men. "Gentlemen, shipmates, and bold hearts all," he cried, waving his hand for silence, "we have captured the richest prize probably that floats on the ocean. There are pieces of eight and silver bullion enough beneath the hatches, as I have told you, to make us rich for life, to say nothing of the gold, jewels, spices, and whatnot, besides----" He was interrupted by another yell of appreciation. "But, men," he continued, "I hardly know what to do with it." "Give it to us," roared a voice, which was greeted with uproarious laughter, "we'll make away with it." Morgan marked down with his eye the man who had spoken and went on. "The ports of His Majesty, the King of England, will be closed to us so soon as our capture of the _Mary Rose_ is noted. England is at peace with the world. There is not a French or Spanish port that would give us a haven. If we appeared anywhere in European waters with this galleon we would be taken and hanged. Now, what's to be done?" "Run the ship ashore on the New England coast," cried the man who had spoken before. "Divide the treasure. Burn the ship and scatter. Let every man look to his own share and his own neck." "A plan, a plan!" "Ay, that'll be the way of it!" "Sawkins is right!" "To the New England shore! Ben Hornigold will pilot the ship!" burst in confused clamor from the crew to whom the plan appealed. "By heaven, no!" shouted Morgan. "That's well enough for you, not for me. I'm a marked man. You can disappear. I should be taken, and Hornigold and Raveneau and the rest. It won't do. We must stay by the ship." "And what then?" "Keep to the original plan. We'll sail this ship down to the Spanish Main and capture a town, divide our treasure, make our way overland to the Pacific, where we'll find another ship, and then away to the South Seas! Great as is our booty, there is still more to be had there for the taking. We'll be free to go where we please with the whole South American coast at hand. There are islands, tropic islands, there, where it's always summer. They are ours for the choosing. We can establish ourselves there. We'll found a community, with every man a law for himself. We'll----" But the recital of this Utopian dream was rudely interrupted. "Nay, Master," cried Sawkins, who had done most of the talking from among the crew, "we go no farther." He was confident that he had the backing of the men, and in that confidence grew bold with reckless temerity. Flushed by the victory of the morning, the rum he had imbibed, intoxicated by the thought of the treasure which was to be shared, the man went on impudently: "No, Sir Harry Morgan, we've decided to follow our latest plan. We'll work this ship up to the New England coast and wreck her there. There are plenty of spots where she can be cast away safely and none to know it. We'll obey you there and no further. We've got enough treasure under hatches to satisfy any reasonable man. We're not afeared o' the King if you are." "You fool!" thundered Morgan. "You will be hanged as soon as your part in the adventure is known." "And who is to make it known, pray? As you said, we are poor ignorant men. It's nothing to us if you are marked, and you, and you," he continued, stepping forward and pointing successively at Morgan and the little band of officers who surrounded him. "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, we'd have you understand, and we're content with what we've got. We don't take no stock in them islands of yours. We can get all the women we want, and of our own kind without crossing the Isthmus. We don't want no further cruisin'. There's no need for us to land on the Spanish Main. We've made up our minds to 'bout ship and bear away to the northward. Am I right, mates?" "Ay, ay, right you are!" roared the men surging aft. "You mutinous hound!" yelled Morgan, leaning forward in a perfect fury of rage, and his passion was something appalling to look upon. Hornigold clutched at the helm, which had been deserted by the seamen detailed to it during the course of the hot debate. The old man cast one long, anxious glance to windward where a black squall was apparently brewing. But he said nothing. The argument was between Morgan and his crew, there was no need for him to interfere. Teach, Raveneau, Velsers, and the officers drew their pistols and bared their swords, but most of the crew were also armed, and if it came to a trial of strength the cabin gang was so overwhelmingly outnumbered that it would have been futile to inaugurate a contest. Morgan, however, was frantic with rage. To be braved by a member of his crew, to have his plans balked by any man, and to be openly insulted in this manner! He did not hesitate a second. He rushed at Master Bartholomew Sawkins, and, brave man as that sailor was, he fairly quailed before the terrific incarnation of passionate fury his captain presented. The rest of the crew gave back before the furious onset of Sir Henry. "You dog!" he screamed, and before the other realized his intention he struck him a fearful blow in the face with his naked fist. Always a man of unusual strength, his rage had bestowed upon him a Herculean force. He seized the dazed man by the throat and waist belt ere he fell to the deck from the force of the blow, and lifting him up literally pitched him overboard. Before the crew had recovered from their astonishment and terror at this bold action, the buccaneer officers closed behind their captain, each covering the front ranks of the men with a pistol. At the same instant the other men, Ringrose's crew, came shoving through the crowd, snatching such arms as they could in the passage, although most of them had to be satisfied with belaying pins. "We're with you, Captain Morgan," cried one of their number. "We've had no treasure, and it seems we're not to have a share in this either. We've been in the South Seas," continued the speaker, a man named L'Ollonois, noted for his cruelty, rapacity, and success, "and the captain speaks truly. There are all that can delight brave men and a race of cowards to defend them. What's this treasure? It is great, but there are other things we want--wine and women!" The man who had been thrown overboard had shrieked for help as he fell. The splash he had made as he struck the water had been followed by another. A Spanish priest standing by the rail had seized a grating and thrown it to the man. Morgan took in the situation in a glance. "Who threw that grating?" he cried. "I, señor," composedly answered the priest, who understood English. Morgan instantly snatched a pistol from de Lussan's hand and shot the man dead. "I allow no one," he shouted, "to interfere between me and the discipline of my men! You speak well, L'Ollonois. And for you, hounds!" he roared, clubbing the smoking pistol and stepping toward the huddled, frightened men, "get back to your duties unless you wish instant death! Scuttle me, if I don't blow up the galleon unless you immediately obey! Bear a hand there! If you hesitate--Fire on them!" he cried to his officers, but the men in the front did not linger. They broke away from his presence so vehemently that they fell over one another in the gangways. [Illustration: Morgan instantly snatched a pistol from de Lussan's hand and shot the man dead.] "Don't fire!" they cried in terror. "We'll go back to duty." Morgan was completely master of the situation. "I am to be obeyed," he cried, "implicitly, without question, without hesitation!" "Ay, ay!" "We will, we will!" "That's well. Heave that carrion overboard," kicking the body of the priest. "Now we'll go back and pick up Sawkins," he continued. "Ready about, station for stays!" "Look you, Captain Morgan," cried Hornigold, pointing to leeward. "The squall! 'Twill be soon on us. We'd best reduce sail and run for it." "Nay," said Morgan, "I'll allow not even a storm to interfere with my plans. Flow the head sheets there! Hard down with the helm! Aft, here some of you, and man the quarter boat. I said I'd pick him up, and picked up he shall be, in spite of hell!" The ship, like all Spanish ships, was unhandy and a poor sailor. Morgan, however, got all out of her that mortal man could get. With nice seamanship he threw her up into the wind, hove her to, and dropped a boat overboard. Teach had volunteered for the perilous command of her and the best men on the ship were at the oars. Sawkins had managed to catch the grating and was clinging feebly when the boat swept down upon him. They dragged him aboard and then turned to the ship. The sinister squall was rushing down upon them from the black horizon with terrific velocity. The men bent their backs and strained at the oars as never before. It did not seem possible that they could beat the wind. The men on the ship beseeched Morgan to fill away and abandon their comrades. "No!" he cried. "I sent them there and I'll wait for them if I sink the ship!" Urged by young Teach to exertion superhuman, the boat actually shot under the quarter of the galleon before the squall broke. The tackles were hooked on and she was run up to the davits with all her crew aboard. "Up with the helm!" cried Morgan the instant the boat was alongside. "Swing the mainyard and get the canvas off her. Aloft, topmen, settle away the halliards! Clew down! Lively, now!" And as the ship slowly paid off and gathered away the white squall broke upon them. The sea was a-smother with mist and rain. The wind whipped through the shrouds and rigging, but everything held. Taking a great bone in her teeth the old _Almirante Recalde_ heeled far over to leeward and ripped through the water to the southward at such a pace as she had never made before. On the quarter-deck a drenched, shivering, and sobbing figure knelt at Morgan's feet and kissed his hand. "Wilt obey me in the future?" cried the captain to the repentant man. "'Fore God, I will, sir," answered Sawkins. "That's well," said the old buccaneer. "Take him forward, men, and let him have all the rum he wants to take off the chill of his wetting." "You stood by me that time, Sir Henry," cried young Teach, who had been told of Morgan's refusal to fill away, "and, by heaven, I'll stand by you in your need!" "Good. I'll remember that," answered Morgan, glad to have made at least one friend among all he commanded. "What's our course now, captain?" asked Hornigold as soon as the incident was over. "Sou'west by west-half-west," answered Morgan, who had taken an observation that noon, glancing in the binnacle as he spoke. "And that will fetch us where?" asked the old man, who was charged with the duty of the practical sailing of the ship. "To La Guayra and Venezuela." "Oho!" said the old boatswain, "St. Jago de Leon, Caracas, t'other side of the mountains will be our prize?" "Ay," answered Morgan. "'Tis a rich place and has been unpillaged for a hundred years." He turned on his heel and walked away. He vouchsafed no further information and there was no way for Master Ben Hornigold to learn that the object that drew Morgan to La Guayra and St. Jago was not plunder but the Pearl of Caracas. CHAPTER VIII HOW THEY STROVE TO CLUB-HAUL THE GALLEON AND FAILED TO SAVE HER ON THE COAST OF CARACAS Two days later they made a landfall off the terrific coast of Caracas, where the tree-clad mountains soar into the clouds abruptly from the level of the sea, where the surf beats without intermission even in the most peaceful weather upon the narrow strip of white sand which separates the blue waters of the Caribbean from the massive cliffs that tower above them. In the intervening time the South Sea buccaneers had picked up wonderfully. These men, allured by the hope of further plunder under a captain who had been so signally successful in the past and in the present, constituted a most formidable auxiliary to Morgan's original crew. Indeed, with the exception of the old hands they were the best of the lot. L'Ollonois had been admitted among the officers on a suitable footing, and there was little or no friction among the crews. They were getting hammered into shape, too, under Morgan's hard drilling, and it was a vastly more dangerous body of men than the drunken gang who had sailed away from Jamaica. Though not the equal of the former buccaneering bands who had performed in their nefarious careers unheard of prodigies of valor and courage, they were still not to be despised. Had it been known on the Spanish Main that such a body was afloat there would have been a thrill of terror throughout the South American continent, for there were many who could remember with the vividness of eye-witnesses and participants the career of crime and horror which the old buccaneers had inaugurated. Like a politic captain, Morgan had done his best to get the men whom he had subdued by his intrepid courage and consummate address into good humor. Rum and spirits were served liberally, work was light, in fact none except the necessary seaman's duties were required of the men, although an hour or two every day was employed in hard drill with swords, small arms, and great guns. In martial exercises the veterans were perfect, and they assiduously endeavored to impart their knowledge to the rest. It was Morgan's plan to run boldly into La Guayra under the Spanish flag. No one could possibly take the _Almirante Recalde_ for anything but a Spanish ship. There was no reason for suspecting the presence of an enemy, for Spain had none in these seas. If there were other ships in the roadstead, for the harbor of La Guayra was really nothing more than an open road, the buccaneer could easily dispose of them in their unprepared condition. Indeed, Morgan rather hoped that there might be others, for, after he captured them, he would have a greater force of guns to train upon the forts of the town, which he expected to take without much difficulty, and then be governed in his manoeuvres toward Caracas by circumstances as they arose. Two days after the capture of the galleon, then, with the wind fresh from the northeast, on a gray, threatening, stormy morning, she was running to the westward along the shore. A few hours at their present speed would bring them opposite La Guayra, whose location at the foot of the mighty La Silla of Caracas was even then discernible. Morgan could see that there were two or three other vessels opposite the town straining at their anchors in the heavy sea. Every preparation for action had been made in good time and the guns had been loaded. The sea lashings had been cast off, although the gun-tackles were carefully secured, for the wind was blowing fresher and the sea running heavier every hour. The men were armed to the teeth. There happened to be a goodly supply of arms on the Spanish ship in addition to those the buccaneers had brought with them, which were all distributed. Many a steel cap destined for some proud Spanish hidalgo's head now covered the cranium of some rude ruffian whom the former would have despised as beneath his feet. Everything was propitious for their enterprise but the weather. The veterans who were familiar with local conditions in the Caribbean studied the northeastern skies with gloomy dissatisfaction. The wind was blowing dead inshore, and as the struck bells denoted the passing hours, with each half-hourly period it grew appreciably stronger. If it continued to blow, or if, as it was almost certain, the strength of the wind increased, it would be impossible without jeopardizing the ship to come to anchor in the exposed roadstead. They would have to run for it. Nay, more, they would have to beat out to sea against it, for the coast-line beyond La Guayra turned rapidly to the northward. Morgan was a bold and skilful mariner, and he held his course parallel to the land much longer than was prudent. He was loath, indeed, to abandon even temporarily a design upon which he had determined, and as he had rapidly run down his southing in this brief cruise his determination had been quickened by the thought of his growing nearness to the Pearl of Caracas, until for the moment love--or what he called love--had almost made him forget the treasure in the ship beneath his feet. For the Pearl of Caracas was a woman. Mercedes de Lara, daughter of the Viceroy of Venezuela, on her way home from Spain where she had been at school, to join her father, the Count Alvaro de Lara in the Vice-regal Palace at St. Jago de Leon, sometimes called the City of Caracas, in the fair valley on the farther side of those towering tree-clad mountains--the Cordilleras of the shore--had touched at Jamaica. There she had been received with due honor, as became the daughter of so prominent a personage, by the Vice-Governor and his wretched wife. Morgan's heart had been inflamed by the dark, passionate beauty of the Spanish maiden. It was only by a severe restraint enjoined upon himself by his position that he had refrained from abusing the hospitality he extended, by seizing her in the old buccaneer fashion. The impression she had made upon him had been lasting, and when he found himself alone, an outlaw, all his dreams of the future centered about his woman. He would carry out the plans which he had outlined to his men, but the Pearl of Caracas, for so Donna Mercedes was called, must accompany him to the South Seas to be the Island Queen of that Buccaneer Empire of which he was to be the founder. That Donna Mercedes might object to this proposition; that she might love another man, might even be married by this time, counted for nothing in Morgan's plans. He had taken what he wanted by dint of his iron will and the strength of his right arm in the past and he should continue the process in the future. If the hand of man could not turn him, certainly the appeal of woman would avail nothing. Consequently he was most reluctant that morning, for his passion had increased with each o'er-run league of sea, to bear away from La Guayra, which was the port of entry for Caracas; but even his ardent spirit was at last convinced of the necessity. It was blowing a gale now and they were so near the shore, although some distance to the eastward of the town, that they could see the surf breaking with tremendous force upon the strip of sand. The officers and older men had observed the course of the ship with growing concern, but no one had ventured to remonstrate with Morgan until old Ben Hornigold as a privileged character finally summoned his courage and approached him. "Mark yon shore, Captain Morgan," he said, and when he made up his mind he spoke boldly. "The wind freshens. We're frightfully near. Should it come on to blow we could not save the ship. You know how unseamanly these Spanish hulks are." "Right you are, Hornigold," answered Morgan, yet frowning heavily. "Curse this wind! We must claw off, I suppose." "Ay, and at once," cried Hornigold. "See, the wind shifts already! It blows straight from the north now." "Hands by the braces there!" shouted Morgan, following with apprehension the outstretched finger of the old boatswain. "Ease down the helm. Brace up. Lively, lads!" In a few moments the great ship, her yards braced sharply up, was headed out to seaward on the starboard tack. The wind was now blowing a whole gale and the masts of the ship were bending like whips. "We'll have to get sail off her, I'm thinking, Hornigold," said Morgan. "Ay, ay, sir, and quick!" "Aloft!" yelled Morgan, "and take in the to'gallant s'l's. Close reef the tops'l's and double reef the courses then." The shaking shrouds were soon covered with masses of men, and as the ship was exceedingly well handled the canvas was promptly snugged down by the eager crew. Hornigold with young Teach to assist him went to the helm. Morgan gave his personal attention to the manoeuvering of the ship, and the other officers stationed themselves where they could best promote and direct the efforts of the seamen. Thus during the long morning they endeavored to claw off the lee shore. Morgan luffed the ship through the heavy squalls which rose to the violence of a hurricane, with consummate skill. Absolutely fearless, a master of his profession, he did all with that ship that mortal man could have done, yet their situation became more and more precarious. They had long since passed La Guayra. They had had a fleeting glimpse of the shipping in the harbor driving helplessly on shore as they dashed by under the gray clouds which had overspread the sea. That town was now hidden from them by a bend of the coast, and they found themselves in a curious bight of land, extending far into the ocean in front of them. The mountains here did not so nearly approach the water-line, and from the look of the place there appeared to be a shoal projecting some distance into the ocean from the point ahead. Some of the buccaneers who knew these waters confirmed the indications by asserting the existence of the shoal. In spite of all that Morgan could do it was quite evident that they could not weather the shoal on their present tack. There was not sea-room to wear and bear up on the other tack. The vessel, in fact, like all ships in those days and especially Spanish galleons, had a tendency to go to leeward like a barrel, and only Morgan's resourceful seamanship had saved them from the fatal embraces of the shore long since. The canvas she was carrying was more than she could legitimately bear in such a hurricane. If there had been sea-room Morgan would have stripped her to bare poles long since, but under the circumstances it was necessary for him to retain full control and direction of the ship; so, although he reduced sail to the lowest point, he still spread a little canvas. The men were filled with apprehension, not only for their lives but, such was their covetousness, for the treasure they had captured, for they stood about a hundred chances to one of losing the ship. Each squall that swept down upon them was harder than the one before. Each time the vessel almost went over on her beam ends, for Morgan would not luff until the last moment, since each time that he did so and lost way temporarily he found himself driven bodily nearer the land. The men would have mutinied had it not been patent to the most stupid mind that their only salvation lay in Morgan. Never had that despicable villain appeared to better advantage than when he stood on the weather quarter overlooking the ship, his long gray hair blown out in the wind, fighting against a foe whose strength was not to be measured by the mind of man, for his life and his ship. Hornigold and Teach, grasping the wheel assisted by two of the ablest seamen, were steering the ship with exquisite precision. Sweat poured from their brows at the violence of the labor required to control the massive helm. The men lay to windward on the deck, or grouped in clusters around the masts, or hung to the life lines which had been passed in every direction. At Morgan's side stood Velsers and Raveneau, prime seamen both. "What think ye, gentlemen?" asked Morgan, at last pointing to the point looming fearfully close ahead of them. "Can we weather it?" "Never!" answered de Lussan, shaking his head. "Well, it has been a short cruise and a merry one. Pity to lose our freightage and lives." "And you, Velsers?" "No," said the German, "it can't be done. Why did we ever come to this cursed coast?" "Avast that!" cried Morgan, thinking quickly. "Gentlemen, we'll club-haul the ship." "The water's too deep, my captain, to give holding ground to the anchor," urged Raveneau shrugging his shoulders. "It shoals yonder, I think," answered Morgan. "We'll hold on until the last minute and then try." "'Tis wasted labor," growled Velsers. "And certain death to hold on," added the Frenchman. "Have you anything else to propose, sirs?" asked Morgan sharply. "We can't tack ship against this wind and sea. There's no room to wear. What's to do?" The men made no answer. "Forward there!" cried the old buccaneer, and it was astonishing the force and power with which he made himself heard in spite of the roar of the wind and the smash of the sea. "Get the lee anchor off the bows there! L'Ollonois?" "Ay, ay." "Run a hawser from the anchor in aft here on the quarter. We'll club-haul the ship. See the cable clear for running." "Very good, sir," cried the Frenchman, summoning the hardiest hands and the most skilful to carry out his commander's orders. "Ready it is, sir," answered Hornigold, tightening his grasp on the spokes and nodding his head to his superior. "To the braces, lads! Obey orders sharply. It's our last chance." The water was roaring and smashing against the shore not a cable's length away. Usually in those latitudes it deepened tremendously a short distance from the low water mark, and there was a grave question whether or not the anchor, with the scope they could give it, would reach bottom. At any rate it must be tried, and tried now. Morgan had held on as long as he dared. Another minute and they would strike. "Down helm!" he shouted. "Flow the head sheets! Round in on the fore braces, there! Show that canvas aft!" The lateen sail on the crossjack yard had been furled, and Morgan, to force her head around, directed the after guard to spring into the mizzen-rigging with a bit of tarpaulin and by exposing it and their bodies to the wind to act as a sail in assisting her to head away from the shore. "Helm-a-lee! Hard-a-lee!" cried Hornigold, who with his men was grasping the spokes like a giant. Slowly the old galleon swung up into the wind, the waves beating upon her bows with a noise like crashes of thunder. A moment she hung. She could go no farther. "She's in irons! Swing that yard!" roared Morgan. "Cut and veer away forward!" There was a splash as the anchor dropped overboard. "Hands on that hawser!" he shouted. "Everybody walk away with it!" The whole crew apparently piled on to the anchor hawser in the hope of pulling the ship's stern around so that the wind would take her on the other bow. She was still hanging in the wind and driving straight on shore. "Haul away, for God's sake!" cried Morgan; but the hawser came in board through their hands with a readiness and ease that showed the anchor had not taken the ground. The drag of the cable to the anchor, however, and the still unspent impetus of the first swing, turned the galleon's stern slightly to windward. Her head began slowly to fall off. "She stays! She makes it!" cried the captain. "Meet her with the helm! Let go and haul! Cut away the hawser!" It had been a tremendous feat of seamanship and bade fair to be successful. It was yet touch and go, however, and the breakers were perilously near. They were writhing around her forefoot now, yet the wind was at last coming in over the other bow. "We're safe!" cried Morgan. "Flatten in forward! Haul aft the sheets and braces!" At that instant there was a terrific crash heard above the roar of the tempest. The foretopmast of the _Almirante Recalde_ carried sharply off at the hounds. Relieved of the pressure, she shot up into the wind once more and drove straight into the seething seas. They were lost with their treasure, their hopes, and their crimes! At the mercy of wind and wave! The men were as quick to see the danger as was Morgan. They came rushing aft baring their weapons, pouring curses and imprecations upon him. He stood with folded arms, a scornful smile on his old face, looking upon them, Carib watching and ready by his side. In another second, with a concussion which threw them all to the deck, the doomed ship struck heavily upon the sands. BOOK III WHICH TREATS OF THE TANGLED LOVE AFFAIRS OF THE PEARL OF CARACAS CHAPTER IX DISCLOSES THE HOPELESS PASSION BETWEEN DONNA MERCEDES DE LARA AND CAPTAIN DOMINIQUE ALVARADO, THE COMMANDANTE OF LA GUAYRA Captain Dominique Alvarado stood alone on the plaza of the ancient castle which for over a century had been the home of the governors of La Guayra. He was gazing listlessly down over the parapet which bordered the bare sheer precipice towering above the seaport town. There was nothing in his eyes, but a great deal in his heavy heart. [Illustration] Captain Alvarado, who filled the honorable station of commandante of the port, was a soldier of proven courage. The _protégé_ and favorite officer of his serene highness the Count Alvaro de Lara, Grandee of Spain and Viceroy of Venezuela, he had been honored with great responsibilities, which he had discharged to the satisfaction of his master. From a military point of view the office of Governor of La Guayra, which he then filled, was of sufficient importance to entitle him to high position and much consideration in the vice-regal court of Caracas. Of unknown parentage, Alvarado had been received into the family of the viceroy when an infant. He had been carefully reared, almost as he had been de Lara's son, and had been given abundant opportunity to distinguish himself. In the course of his short life he had managed to amass a modest fortune by honorable means. He was young and handsome; he had been instructed, for the viceroy had early shown partiality for him, in the best schools in the New World. His education had been ripened and polished by a sojourn of several years in Europe, not only at the court of Madrid but also at that of Versailles, where the Count de Lara had been sent as ambassador to the Grand Monarch during a period in which, for the sake of supervising the education of his only daughter, he had temporarily absented himself from his beloved Venezuela. That an unknown man should have been given such opportunities, should have been treated with so much consideration, was sufficient commentary on the unprecedented kindness of heart of the old Hidalgo who represented the failing power of His Most Catholic Majesty of Spain, Carlos II., the Bewitched, in the new world. Whatever his origin, therefore, he had been brought up as a Spanish soldier and gentleman, and the old count was openly proud of him. With assured station, ample means, increasing reputation; with youth, health, and personal good looks, the young Governor should have been a happy man. But it was easy to see from the heavy frown upon his sunny face--for he was that rare thing in Spain, a blue-eyed blond who at first sight might have been mistaken for an Englishman--that his soul was filled with melancholy. And well it might be, for Alvarado was the victim of a hopeless passion for Mercedes de Lara, the Viceroy's daughter, known from one end of the Caribbean to the other, from her beauty and her father's station, as the Pearl of Caracas. Nor was his present sadness due to unrequited passion, for he was confident that the adoration of his heart was met with an adequate response from its object. Indeed, it was no secret to him that Mercedes loved him with a devotion which matched his own. It was not that; but her father had announced his intention to betroth the girl to Don Felipe de Tobar y Bobadilla, a young gentleman of ancient lineage and vast wealth, who had been born in America and was the reputed head in the Western Hemisphere of the famous family whose name he bore. The consent of Donna Mercedes to the betrothal had not been asked. That was a detail which was not considered necessary by parents in the year of grace 1685, and especially by Spanish parents. That she should object to the engagement, or refuse to carry out her father's plan never crossed the Viceroy's imagination. That she might love another, was an idea to which he never gave a thought. It was the business of a well-brought-up Spanish maiden to be a passive instrument in the carrying out of her father's views, especially in things matrimonial, in which, indeed, love found little room for entrance. But Donna Mercedes loved Captain Alvarado and she cared nothing for Don Felipe. Not that Don Felipe was disagreeable to her, or to any one. He was a Spanish gentleman in every sense of the word, handsome, distinguished, proud, and gallant--but she did not, could not, love him. To complicate matters still further de Tobar was Captain Alvarado's cherished companion and most intimate friend. The progress of the love affair between Alvarado and Donna Mercedes had been subjective rather than objective. They had enjoyed some unusual opportunities for meeting on account of the station the former filled in the Viceroy's household and the place he held in his heart, yet the opportunities for extended freedom of intercourse between young men and women of the gentler class in those days, and especially among Spaniards of high rank, were extremely limited. The old count took care to see that his daughter was carefully watched and shielded; not because he suspected her of anything, for he did not, but because it was a habit of his people and his ancestry. The busy life that he led, the many employments which were thrust upon him, his military duties, had kept the days of the young soldier very full, and under the most favorable circumstances he would have had little time for love making. Fortunately much time is not required to develop a love affair, especially in New Spain and near to the equator. But though they had enjoyed brief opportunity for personal intercourse, the very impossibilities of free communication, the difficulties of meeting, had but added fuel and fire to their affection. Love had flamed into these two hearts with all the intensity of their tropic blood and tropic land. Alvarado's passion could feed for days and grow large upon the remembrance of the fragrance of her hand when he kissed it last in formal salutation. Mercedes' soul could enfold itself in the recollection of the too ardent pressure of his lips, the burning yet respectful glance he had shot at her, by others unperceived, when he said farewell. The memory of each sigh the tropic breeze had wafted to her ears as he walked in attendance upon her at some formal function of the court was as much to her as the flower which she had artfully dropped at his feet and which had withered over his heart ever since, was to him. The difficulties in the way of the exchange of those sweet nothings that lovers love to dwell upon and the impossibility of any hoped for end to their love making intensified their passion. Little or nothing had been spoken between them, but each knew the other loved. For the first moment the knowledge of that glorious fact had sufficed them--but afterwards they wanted more. Having tasted, they would fain quaff deeply. But they could see no way by which to manage the realization of their dreams. The situation was complicated in every possible way for Alvarado. Had he been a man of family like his friend, de Tobar, he would have gone boldly to the Viceroy and asked for the hand of his daughter, in which case he thought he would have met with no refusal; but, being ignorant of his birth, having not even a legal right to the name he bore, he knew that the proud old Hidalgo would rather see his daughter dead than wedded to him. Of all the ancient splendors of the Spanish people there was left them but one thing of which they could be proud--their ancient name. De Lara, who belonged to one of the noblest and most distinguished families of the Iberian Peninsula, would never consent to degrade his line by allying his only daughter to a nobody, however worthy in other respects the suitor might prove to be. Again, had Mercedes' father been any other than the life-long patron and friend to whom he literally owed everything that he possessed, such was the impetuosity of Alvarado's disposition that, at every hazard, he would have taken the girl by stealth or force from her father's protection, made her his wife, and sought an asylum in England or France, or wherever he could. So desperate was his state of mind, so overwhelming his love that he would have shrunk from nothing to win her. Yet just because the Viceroy had been a father to him, just because he had loved him, had been unexampled in his kindness and consideration to him, just because he reposed such absolutely unlimited confidence in him, the young man felt bound in honor by fetters that he could not break. And there was his friendship for de Tobar. There were many young gallants about the vice-regal court who, jealous of Alvarado's favor and envious of his merits, had not scrupled in the face of his unknown origin to sneer, to mock, or to slight--so far as it was safe to do either of these things to so brave and able a soldier. Amid these gilded youths de Tobar with noble magnanimity and affection had proved himself Alvarado's staunchest friend. A romantic attachment had sprung up between the two young men, and the first confidant of de Tobar's love affairs had been Alvarado himself. To betray his friend was almost as bad as to betray his patron. It was not to be thought of. Yet how could he, a man in whose blood--though it may have been ignoble for aught he knew--ran all the passions of his race with the fervor and fire of the best, a man who loved, as he did, the ground upon which the Señorita de Lara walked, stand by tamely and see her given to another, no matter who he might be? He would have given the fortune which he had amassed by honorable toil, the fame he had acquired by brilliant exploits, the power he enjoyed through the position he had achieved, the weight which he bore in the councils of New Spain, every prospect that life held dear to him to solve the dilemma and win the woman he loved for his wife. He passed hours in weary isolation on the plaza of the great castle overlooking the stretched-out town upon the narrow strand with the ceaseless waves beating ever upon the shore from the heavenly turquoise blue of the Caribbean wavering far into the distant horizon before him. He spent days and nights, thinking, dreaming, agonizing, while he wrestled vainly with the problem. Sometimes he strove to call to his mind those stern resolutions of duty which he had laid before himself at the beginning of his career, and to which he had steadfastly adhered in the pursuit of his fortunes; and he swore that he would be true to his ideals, that the trust reposed in him by the Viceroy should not be betrayed, that the friendship in which he was held by de Tobar should never be broken, that he would tear out of his heart the image of the woman he loved. And then, again, he knew that so long as that heart kept up its beating she would be there, and to rob him of her image meant to take away his life. If there had been a war, if some opportunity had been vouchsafed him to pour out, in battle against the enemy, some of the ardor that consumed him, the situation would have been ameliorated; but the times were those of profound peace. There was nothing to occupy his mind except the routine duties of the garrison. Spain, under the last poor, crazed, bewitched, degenerate descendant of the once formidable Hapsburgs, had reached the lowest depths of ignominy and decay. Alone, almost, under her flag Venezuela was well governed--from the Spanish standpoint, that is; from the native American point of view the rule of even the gentlest of Spaniards had made a hell on earth of the fairest countries of the new continent. Of all the cities and garrisons which were under the sway of the Viceroy de Lara, La Guayra was the best appointed and cared for. But it did not require a great deal of the time or attention from so skilled a commander as Alvarado to keep things in proper shape. Time, therefore, hung heavily on his hands. There were few women of rank in the town, which was simply the port of entry for St. Jago de Leon across the mountains which rose in tree-clad slopes diversified by bold precipices for ten thousand feet back of the palace, and from the commoner sort of women the young captain held himself proudly aloof, while his love safeguarded him from the allurement of the evil and the shameless who flaunted their iniquity in every seaport on the Caribbean. On the other side of the mountain range after a descent of several thousand feet to a beautiful verdant valley whose altitude tempered the tropic heat of the low latitude into a salubrious and delightful climate, lay the palace of the Viceroy and the city which surrounded it, St. Jago, or Santiago de Leon, commonly called the City of Caracas. Many a day had Alvarado turned backward from the white-walled, red-roofed town spread out at his feet, baking under the palms, seething in the fierce heat, as if striving to pierce with his gaze the great cordilleras, on the farther side of which in the cool white palace beneath the gigantic ceibas the queen of his heart made her home. He pictured her at all hours of the day; he dwelt upon her image, going over again in his mind each detail of her face and figure. The perfume of her hand was still fragrant upon his lips; the sound of her voice, the soft musical voice of Andalusia, still vibrated in his ear; her burning glance pierced him even in his dreams like a sword. He was mad, mad with love for her, crazed with hopeless passion. There seemed to be no way out of his misery but for him to pass his own sword through his heart, or to throw himself from the precipice, or to plunge into the hot, cruel blue of the enveloping Caribbean--the color of the sea changed in his eye with his temper, like a woman's mood. Yet he was young, he hoped in spite of himself. He prayed--for he was not old enough to have lost faith--and he planned. Besides, he was too brave a soldier to kill himself, and she was not yet married. She was not formally betrothed, even; although it was well known that her father looked favorably upon de Tobar's suit, no formal announcement had been made of it as yet. So in spite of his judgment he dreamed--the thoughts of youth and love are long, long thoughts, indeed. That morning the young captain, engrossed in his emotions, was not aware of the approach of a messenger, until the clank of the man's sword upon the stone flags of the plaza caused him to lift his head. He was a soldier, an officer of the bodyguard of the Viceroy, and he bore in his hand a letter sealed with the de Lara coat of arms. The messenger saluted and handed the packet to the captain. "Yesterday evening, His Excellency, the Viceroy, charged me to deliver this letter to you to-day." "Fadrique," called Alvarado, to a servitor, "a flagon of wine for the cavalier. By your leave, sir," he continued with formal politeness, opening the packet and reading the message: "TO THE CAPTAIN ALVARADO, COMMANDANTE OF LA GUAYRA. GREETING: As one faithful to the fortunes of our family we would crave your honorable presence at our palace in Santiago to-morrow evening. In view of your service and devotion, we have done you the honor to appoint you as one of the witnesses to the formal betrothal of our daughter, Donna Mercedes, to your friend, Don Felipe de Tobar. After that, as we have received appeals for help from the Orinoco country, we propose to lead His Most Catholic Majesty's Imperial troops thither in person to overawe the natives; and, reposing full trust in your fidelity and honor, we deign to commit the Donna Mercedes to your safe keeping in our city of La Guayra, until we return. Therefore make your preparations accordingly. Given under our hand and seal, DE LARA, _Viceroy_." It had come! The old man, as a last token of his respect, had nominated him as a witness to the contract which robbed him forever of hope and happiness. The young man went white before the keen eye of the messenger, who, in common with other officers of the Viceroy's court, suspected what was, indeed, concealed from no one save the father and lover. The world swam before his vision. The blue sea seemed to rise up and meet the green hills until he could not distinguish the one from the other. His heart almost stopped its beating, yet summoning his resolution he recovered himself by an effort that left him trembling, the sweat beading his forehead. "Are you in a state for a return journey at once, señor?" he asked of the young officer. "At your service, captain." "That's well. Say to His Excellency, the Viceroy, that I thank him for the honor he does me. I shall wait upon him to-morrow and obey his commands." CHAPTER X HOW DONNA MERCEDES TEMPTED HER LOVER AND HOW HE STROVE VALIANTLY TO RESIST HER APPEALS Alvarado was alone in the cabinet of the Viceroy, to which his rank and the favor in which His Excellency held him gave him access at all times. [Illustration] He had ridden all day over the rough road that winds over the mountains from La Guayra to Caracas. The storm which had rushed down the mountain-side all afternoon matched the tumult in his soul, and the sheets of rain blown upon him by the fierce wind had not cooled the fever of his agitation. The unusual tempest was one of the most terrific that had swept over the coast in years. He had marked as he rode a huge ship far to seaward, staggering along under shortened canvas and laboring tremendously in the heavy seas. But his thoughts were so centered upon the situation in which he found himself that he had not particularly noticed the vessel, although passing ships were infrequent sights off the port of La Guayra. Pale, haggard, and distraught from his mental struggle he had crossed the pass at the summit of the mountain and descended into the fertile valley now adrip with rain and looking almost cold under the gray sky, and had presented himself at the palace of the Viceroy. He had changed his apparel after his reception and his old sergeant had polished his breastplate until it fairly blazed with light, for though the occasion was one of peace he had felt that he could better sustain his part in the military uniform in which he had won his only title to consideration. He schooled himself to go through that part with the resolution of a Spanish gentleman. Although there was no evidence of gentle blood save such as was presented by his actions, he had always cherished the hope that could the secret of his birth be revealed he would not be found unfit for the honors that he had won and the ambitions that he cherished. Consequently his appearance in the brilliantly lighted hall of the palace among the gay courtiers resplendent in magnificent attire, blazing with jewels, threw a somber note over the proceedings. It was as a soldier he had won fame and the consideration of the Viceroy; in no other capacity, so far as any man knew, had he the right to enter that assemblage of the rich and well born. It was as a soldier he would perform that hardest of all duties which had ever been laid upon him by his friend and patron, the Governor. Pale, stern, composed, he stood an iron figure of repression. So severe was the constraint that he put upon himself that he had given no sign of his emotion, even at the near approach of Donna Mercedes, and the hand which signed his name beneath her father's as the principal witness was as steady as if it held merely the sword in some deadly combat. He endured passively the affectionate greetings of the happy de Tobar, who was intoxicated at the assurance afforded by the betrothal of the coming realization of all his hopes. He sustained with firmness the confidence of the Viceroy and the admissions de Lara made to him in private, of his pleasure in the suitable and fortunate marriage which was there arranged. He even bore without breaking one long, piteous appeal which had been shot at him from the black eyes of the unhappy Mercedes. To her he seemed preternaturally cold and indifferent. He was so strong, so brave, so successful. She had counted upon some interposition from him, but the snow-capped Andes were no colder than he appeared, their granite sides no more rigid and unsympathetic. It was with a feeling almost of anger and resentment at last that she had signed the betrothal contract. But the restraint on the man was more than he could bear. The cumulative force of the reproach of the woman he loved, the confidence of the Viceroy, the rapturous happiness of his best friend, was not to be endured longer. Pleading indisposition, he early begged leave to withdraw from the festivities which succeeded the completion of the betrothal ceremony and the retirement of the ladies. At the suggestion of the Viceroy, who said he desired to consult with him later in the evening, he went into the deserted cabinet of the latter. The palace was built in the form of a quadrangle around an open patio. A balcony ran along the second story passing the Viceroy's cabinet, beyond which was his bedroom and beyond that the apartments of his daughter. The rain had ceased and the storm had spent itself. It was a calm and beautiful night, the moon shining with tropic splendor through the open window dispensed with the necessity of lights. There was no one in the cabinet when he entered, and he felt at last able to give way to his emotion; Mercedes though she was not married was now lost to him beyond recourse. After the women withdrew from the hall with Donna Mercedes there was no restraint put upon the young nobles, and from the other side of the patio came the sound of uproarious revelry and feasting--his friends and comrades with generous cheer felicitating the happy bridegroom that was to be. Alvarado was alone, undisturbed, forgotten, and likely to remain so. He put his head upon his hands and groaned in anguish. "Why should it not have been I?" he murmured. "Is he stronger, braver, a better soldier? Does he love her more? O Mother of God! Riches? Can I not acquire them? Fame? Have I not a large measure? Birth? Ah, that is it! My father! my mother! If I could only know! How she looked at me! What piteous appeal in her eyes! What reproach when I stood passive cased in iron, with a breaking heart. O my God! My God! Mercedes! Mercedes!" In his anguish he called the name aloud. So absorbed and preoccupied in his grief had he been that he was not aware of a figure softly moving along the balcony in the shadow. He did not hear a footfall coming through the open window that gave into the room. He did not realize that he had an auditor to his words, a witness to his grief, until a touch soft as a snowflake fell upon his fair head and a voice for which he languished whispered in his ear: "You called me; I am come." "Señorita Mercedes!" he cried, lifting his head and gazing upon her in startled surprise. "How came you here?" he added brusquely, catching her hands with a fierce grasp in the intensity of his emotion as he spoke. "Is this my greeting?" she answered, surprised in turn that he had not instantly swept her to his heart. She strove to draw herself away, and when he perceived her intent he opened his hands and allowed her arms to fall by her side. "I have been mistaken," she went on piteously, "I am not wanted." She turned away and stood full in the silver bar of the moonlight streaming through the casement. Her white face shone in the light against the dark background of the huge empty room--that face with its aureole of soft dark hair, the face of a saint, pale yet not passionless, of the heaven heavenly, yet with just enough of earthly feeling in her eyes to attest that she was a very woman after all. "Go not," he cried, catching her again and drawing her back. Gone were his resolutions, shattered was his determination, broken was his resistance. She was here before him, at all hazards he would detain her. They were alone together, almost for the first time in their lives. It was night, the balmy wind blew softly, the moonlight enveloped them. Such an opportunity would never come again. It was madness. It was fatal. No matter. She should not go now. "I heard you," she murmured, swaying toward him. "I heard--you seemed to be--suffering. I do not know why--something drew me on. You whispered--you were speaking--I--listened. I came nearer. Was your heart breaking, too? Despise me!" She put her face in her hands. It was a confession she made. A wave of shame swept over her. "Despise you? Ah, God help me, I love you!" And this time he gathered her in his arms, and drew her back into the deeper shadow. "And you were so cold," she whispered. "I looked at you. I begged you with all my soul before I signed. You did nothing, nothing! O Mother of God, is there no help?" "Dost love me?" "With all my soul," she answered. "Poor----" "Nay----" "Obscure----" "Nay----" "Lowly--perhaps ignobly born----" "Nay, love, these are mere words to me. Rich or poor, high or low, noble or ignoble, thou only hast my heart. It beats and throbs only for thee. I have thought upon thee, dreamed upon thee, loved thee. I can not marry Don Felipe. I, too, have the pride of the de Lara's. My father shall find it. I signed that contract under duress. You would do nothing. Oh, Alvarado, Alvarado, wilt thou stand by and let me be taken into the arms of another? But no, I shall die before that happens." "Donna Mercedes," cried the unhappy young man, "I love thee, I adore thee, I worship thee with all my heart and soul! Were it not a coward's act I would have plunged my dagger into my breast ere I witnessed that betrothal to-night." "Thou shouldst first have sheathed it in mine," she whispered. "But could'st find no better use for thy weapon than that?" "Would you have me kill Don Felipe?" "No, no, but defend me with it. There are hidden recesses in the mountains. Your soldiers worship you. Take me away, away into the undiscovered countries to the southward. A continent is before you. We will find a new Mexico, carve out a new Peru with your sword, though I want nothing but to be with you, alone with you, my soldier, my lover, my king!" "But your plighted word?" "'Tis nothing. My heart was plighted to you. That is enough. Let us go, we may never have the chance again," she urged, clinging to him. A fearful struggle was going on in Alvarado's breast. What she proposed was the very thing he would have attempted were the circumstances other than they were. But his patron, his friend, his military duty, his honor as a soldier--the sweat beaded his forehead again. He had made up his mind at the betrothal to give her up. He had abandoned hope; he had put aside possibilities, for he could see none. But here she was in his arms, a living, breathing, vital, passionate figure, her heart beating against his own, pleading with him to take her away. Here was love with all its witchery, with all its magic, with all its power, attacking the defenses of his heart; and the woman whom he adored as his very life, with all the passion in his being, was urging, imploring, begging him to take her away. He was weakening, wavering, and the woman who watched him realized it and added fuel to the flame. "The love I bear your father!" he gasped. "Should it bind where mine breaks? I am his daughter." "And Don Felipe is my personal friend." "And my betrothed, but I hesitate not." "My oath as a soldier----" "And mine as a woman." "Gratitude--duty----" "Oh, Alvarado, you love me not!" she cried. "These are the strongest. I have dreamed a dream. Lend me your dagger. There shall be no awakening. Without you I can not bear----" As she spoke she plucked the dagger from the belt of the young soldier, lifted the point gleaming in the moonlight and raised it to her heart. He caught it instantly. "No, no!" he cried. "Give back the weapon." The poniard fell from her hand. "Thou hast taken me, I thank thee," she murmured, thinking the battle won as he swept her once more in his arms. This time he bent his head to her upturned face and pressed kiss after kiss upon the trembling lips. It was the first time, and they abandoned themselves to their transports with all the fire of their long restrained passion. "And is this the honor of Captain Alvarado?" cried a stern voice as the Viceroy entered the room. "My officer in whom I trusted? Death and fury! Donna Mercedes, what do you here?" "The fault is mine," said Alvarado, stepping between the woman he loved and her infuriated father. "I found Donna Mercedes in the cabinet when I came in. She strove to fly. I detained her--by force. I poured into her ear a tale of my guilty passion. Mine is the fault. She repulsed me. She drove me off." "The dagger at your feet?" "She snatched it from me and swore to bury it in her heart unless I left her. I alone am guilty." He lied instantly and nobly to save the woman's honor. "Thou villain, thou false friend!" shouted the Viceroy, whipping out his sword. He was beside himself with fury, but there was a characteristic touch of magnanimity about his next action; so handsome, so splendid, so noble, in spite of his degrading confession, did the young man look, that he gave him a chance. "Draw your sword, Captain Alvarado, for as I live I shall run you through!" Alvarado's hand went to his belt, he unclasped it and threw it aside. "There lies my sword. I am dishonored," he cried. "Strike, and end it all." "Not so, for Christ's sake!" screamed Mercedes, who had heard as if in a daze. "He hath not told the truth. He hath lied for me. I alone am guilty. I heard him praying here in the still night and I came in, not he. I threw myself into his arms. I begged him to take me away. He spoke of his love and friendship for you, for Don Felipe, his honor, his duty. I did indeed seize the dagger, but because though he loved me he would still be true. On my head be the shame. Honor this gentleman, my father, as I--love him." She flung herself at her father's feet and caught his hand. "I love him," she sobbed, "I love him. With all the power, all the intensity, all the pride of the greatest of the de Laras I love him." "Is this true, Captain Alvarado?" "Would God she had not said so," answered the young man gloomily. "Is it true?" "I can not deny it, my lord, and yet I am the guilty one. I was on the point of yielding. Had you not come in we should have gone away." "Yet you had refused?" "I--I--hesitated." "Refused my daughter! My God!" whispered the old man. "And you, shameless girl, you forced yourself upon him? Threw yourself into his arms?" "Yes. I loved him. Did'st never love in thine own day, my father? Did'st never feel that life itself were as nothing compared to what beats and throbs here?" "But Don Felipe?" "He is a gallant gentleman. I love him not. Oh, sir, for God's sake----" "Press your daughter no further, Don Alvaro, she is beside herself," gasped out Alvarado hoarsely. "'Tis all my fault. I loved her so deeply that she caught the feeling in her own heart. When I am gone she will forget me. You have raised me from obscurity, you have loaded me with honor, you have given me every opportunity--I will be true. I will be faithful to you. 'Twill be death, but I hope it may come quickly. Misjudge me not, sweet lady. Happiness smiles not upon my passion, sadness marks me for her own. I pray God 'twill be but for a little space. Give me some work to do that I may kill sorrow by losing my life, my lord. And thou, Donna Mercedes, forget me and be happy with Don Felipe." "Never, never!" cried the girl. She rose to her feet and came nearer to him. Her father stood by as if stunned. She laid her arms around Alvarado's neck. She looked into her lover's eyes. "You love me and I love you. What matters anything else?" "Oh, my lord, my lord!" cried Alvarado, staring at the Viceroy, "kill me, I pray, and end it all!" "Thou must first kill me," cried Mercedes, extending her arms across her lover's breast. "Donna Mercedes," said her father, "thou hast put such shame upon the name and fame of de Lara as it hath never borne in five hundred years. Thou hast been betrothed to an honorable gentleman. It is my will that the compact be carried out." "O my God! my God!" cried the unhappy girl, sinking into a chair. "Wilt Thou permit such things to be?" "And, Alvarado," went on the old man, not heeding his daughter's piteous prayer. "I know not thy parentage nor to what station thou wert born, but I have marked you from that day when, after Panama, they brought you a baby into my house. I have watched you with pride and joy. Whatever responsibility I have placed before you, you have met it. Whatever demand that hard circumstances have made upon you, you have overcome it. For every test there counts a victory. You have done the State and me great service, none greater than to-night. With such a temptation before thee, that few men that I have come in contact with in my long life could have resisted, you have thrown it aside. You and your honor have been tried and not found wanting. Whatever you may have been I know you now to be the finest thing on God's earth, a Spanish gentleman! Nay, with such evidence of your character I could, were it possible, have set aside the claims of birth and station----" "Oh, my father, my father!" interrupted the girl joyously. "And have given you Donna Mercedes to wife." "Your Excellency----" "But 'tis too late. The betrothal has been made; the contract signed; my word is passed. In solemn attestation before our Holy Church I have promised to give my daughter to Don Felipe de Tobar. Nothing can be urged against the match----" "But love," interjected Mercedes; "that is wanting." "It seems so," returned the Viceroy. "And yet, where duty and honor demand, love is nothing. Donna Mercedes, thou hast broken my heart. That a Spanish gentlewoman should have shown herself so bold! I could punish thee, but thou art mine all. I am an old man. Perhaps there is some excuse in love. I will say no more. I will e'en forgive thee, but I must have your words, both of you, that there shall be no more of this; that no other word of affection for the other shall pass either lip, forever, and that you will be forever silent about the events of this night." "Speak thou first, Captain Alvarado," said the girl. "You have loved me," cried the young man, turning toward Donna Mercedes, "and you have trusted me," bowing to the old man. "Here are two appeals. God help me, I can not hesitate. Thou shalt have my word. Would this were the last from my lips." "And he could promise; he could say it!" wailed the broken-hearted woman. "O my father, he loves me not! I have been blind! I promise thee, on the honor of a de Lara! I have leaned upon a broken reed." "Never," cried the old man, "hath he loved thee so truly and so grandly as at this moment." "It may be, it may be," sobbed the girl, reeling as she spoke. "Take me away. 'Tis more than I can bear." Then she sank prostrate, senseless between the two men who loved her. CHAPTER XI WHEREIN CAPTAIN ALVARADO PLEDGES HIS WORD TO THE VICEROY OF VENEZUELA, THE COUNT ALVARO DE LARA, AND TO DON FELIPE DE TOBAR, HIS FRIEND "We must have assistance," cried the Viceroy in dismay. "Alvarado, do you go and summon----" "Into the women's apartments, my lord?" "Nay, I will go. Watch you here. I trust you, you see," answered the old man, promptly running through the window and out on the balcony toward the apartments of his daughter. He went quickly but making no noise, for he did not wish the events of the evening to become public. Left to himself, Alvarado, resisting the temptation to take the prostrate form of his love in his arms and cover her cold face with kisses, knelt down by her side and began chafing her hands. He thought it no breach of propriety to murmur her name. Indeed he could not keep the words from his lips. Almost instantly the Viceroy departed there was a commotion in the outer hall. There was a knock on the door, repeated once and again, and before Alvarado could determine upon a course of action, Don Felipe burst into the room followed by Señora Agapida, the duenna of Donna Mercedes. "Your Excellency----" cried the old woman in agitation, "I missed the Señorita. I have searched----" "But who is this?" interrupted de Tobar, stepping over to where Alvarado still knelt by the prostrate girl. "'Tis not the Viceroy!" He laid his hand on the other man's shoulder and recoiled in surprise. "Dominique!" he exclaimed. "What do you here and who----" "Mother of God!" shrieked the duenna. "There lies the Donna Mercedes!" "She is hurt?" asked Felipe, for the moment his surprise at the presence of Alvarado lost in his anxiety for his betrothal. "I know not," answered the distracted old woman. "She lives," said Alvarado, rising to his feet and facing his friend. "She hath but fainted." "Water!" said Señora Agapida. Both men started instantly to hand her the carafe that stood on a table near by. Don Felipe was nearer and got it first. Señora Agapida loosened the dress of the young woman and sprinkled her face and hands with the water, laying her head back upon the floor as she did so and in a moment the girl opened her eyes. In the darkness of the room, for no lamp had as yet been lighted, she had not recognized in her bewilderment who was bending over her, for Alvarado had forced himself to draw back, yielding his place to de Tobar as if by right. "Alvarado!" she murmured. "She lives," said Don Felipe, with relief and jealousy mingled in his voice, and then he turned and faced the other. "And now, Señor Alvarado, perhaps you will be able to explain how you came to be here alone, at this hour of night, with my betrothed, and why she calls thy name! By St. Jago, sir, have you dared to offer violence to this lady?" His hand went to his sword. To draw it was the work of a moment. He menaced the young soldier with the point. "I could kill you as you stand there!" he cried in growing rage. "But the memory of our ancient friendship stays my hand. You shall have a chance. Where is your weapon!" "Strike, if it please you. I want nothing but death," answered Alvarado, making no effort whatever to defend himself. "Hast deserved it at my hands, then?" exclaimed the now infuriated de Tobar. "Stay!" interrupted the Viceroy re-entering the room. "What means this assault upon my captain? Donna Mercedes?" "She revives," said the duenna. "Is it thou, Señora?" said the Viceroy. "I sought thee unavailingly." "Your Highness," said the old woman, "I missed the señorita and found her here." "And how came you unbidden into my private cabinet, Don Felipe?" "Your Excellency, Señora Agapida found me in the corridor. She was distraught over her lady's absence. We knocked. There was no answer. We entered. I crave your pardon, but it was well I came, for I found my betrothed and my best friend alone, together, here," he pointed gloomily. "A Spanish gentleman alone at this hour of the night with----" "Silence!" thundered the Viceroy. "Would'st asperse my daughter's name? Darest thou--By heaven, you hold a weapon in your hand. I am old but--Guard thyself!" he called, whipping out his sword with astonishing agility. "I can not fight with you," said de Tobar lowering his point, "but for God's sake, explain!" "The Donna Mercedes is as pure as heaven," asserted Alvarado. "Then why did you bid me strike and stand defenseless a moment since?" "Because I love her and she is yours." "Death!" shouted de Tobar. "Take up thy sword!" "Stay," broke in the old Viceroy quickly, "keep silent, Alvarado, let me tell it all. I am her father. I would consult with the captain upon the journey of the morrow and other matters of state. With us here was my daughter. Is there aught to provoke thy jealousy or rage in this? Overcome by--er--the events of the day she fainted. One of us had to go for aid. 'Twas not meet that the young man should go to the women's apartments, I left them together." "Alone?" queried de Tobar. "Ay, alone. One was my daughter, a de Lara, and she was senseless. The other was almost my son, I knew him. He had proved himself. I could trust him." "Your Excellency, I thank you," cried Alvarado, seizing the hand of the old nobleman and carrying it to his lips. "You said you loved her," said de Tobar turning to Alvarado. "And so I do," answered Alvarado, "but who could help it? It is an infection I have caught from my friend." "Have you spoken words of love to her? Have you pleaded with her? Did you meet here by appoint?" "Don Felipe," cried Donna Mercedes, who had kept silent at first hardly comprehending and then holding her breath at the dénouement. "Hear me. Captain Alvarado's manner to me has been coldness itself. Nay, he scarcely manifested the emotion of a friend." She spoke with a bitterness and resentment painfully apparent to Alvarado, but which in his bewilderment Don Felipe did not discover. "I swear to you, señor," she went on cunningly, "until this hour I never heard him say those words, 'I love you.' But this scene is too much for me, I can not bear it. Help me hence. Nay, neither of you gentlemen. With Señora Agapida's aid I can manage. Farewell. When you wish to claim me, Don Felipe, the betrothal shall be carried out and I shall be yours. Good-night." De Tobar sprang after her and caught her hand, raising it respectfully to his lips. "Now, señor," he cried turning back, "we can discuss this question unhindered by the presence of the lady. You said you loved her. How dare you, a man of no birth, whose very name is an assumption, lift your eyes so high?" "This from you, my friend," cried Alvarado, turning whiter than ever at this insult. "Sir," interposed the voice of the Viceroy, "restrain yourself. 'Tis true we know not the birth or name of this young man whom I have honored with my confidence, upon whom you have bestowed your friendship. Perchance it may be nobler than thine, or mine, perchance not so, but he hath ever shown himself--and I have watched him from his youth--a gentleman, a Spanish gentleman whom all might emulate. You wrong him deeply----" "But he loved her." "What of that?" answered the Viceroy. "Ay," cried Alvarado. "I do love her, and that I make no secret of it from you proves the sincerity of my soul. Who could help loving her, and much less a man in my position, for, in so far as was proper in a maiden, she has been kind to me since I was a boy. I cherish no hopes, no dreams, no ambitions. I locked my passion within my breast and determined to keep it there though it killed me. To-night, with her helpless at my feet, thrown on my pity, it was wrung from me; but I swear to you by my knightly honor, by that friendship that hath subsisted between us of old, that from this hour those words shall never pass my lips again; that from this hour I shall be as silent as before. Oh, trust me! I am sadly torn. Thou hast all, I nothing! If thou canst not trust me--I bade you strike before, strike now and end it all. What supports life when love is denied? Friendship and duty. If these be taken from me, I am poor indeed, and I'd liefer die than live in shame. Your Excellency, bid him strike." "Thy life is not thine," answered the older man, "it belongs to Spain. We have fallen on evil times and thy country needs thine arm. Thou hast said aright. Señor de Tobar," he cried, "he is thy friend. Take him back to thy affection. I am an old man and a father, but were I young and one so beautiful crossed my path as Donna Mercedes--by Our Lady he hath excuse for anything! He speaks the truth, though it be to his own hurt. Canst stand unmoved, señor, in thy happiness before such misery as that?" "Dominique, forgive me!" cried de Tobar, "I was wrong. I am ashamed. Thou couldst not help it. I forgive thee. I love thee still." He made as if to embrace his friend, but Alvarado held him off. "Wilt trust me fully, absolutely, entirely?" "With all my life," answered de Tobar. "Thou shalt be tried," said the Viceroy. "We march toward the Orinoco in three days. I had proposed to establish Donna Mercedes at La Guayra under care of Alvarado." "Not now, your Excellency," cried the young man. "Nay, I shall, provided de Tobar is willing." "A test, a test!" answered that young man. "Gladly do I welcome it. As thou lovest me, and as I love thee, guard thou my betrothed." "Your Excellency, take me with you to the Orinoco, and let Don Felipe stay at home with Donna Mercedes in La Guayra." "I am no experienced soldier to command a town," protested de Tobar. "Nay," said the Viceroy, "it shall be as we have said. Wilt take the charge?" "Ay, and defend it with all my soul!" answered Alvarado firmly. "Señor Alvarado and Don Felipe, you have shown yourselves true Spanish gentlemen this night, hidalgos of whom Spain may well be proud," cried the Viceroy in pleased and proud content. "To you, de Tobar, I shall give my daughter with assurance and pride, and were there another to bear my name I could wish no better husband for her than you, my poor friend. Now, the hour is late, I have much to say to Alvarado. Don Felipe, you will pardon me? Good-night." "Good-night, your Excellency," promptly returned de Tobar. "I shall see you in the morning, Dominique, ere you set forth for La Guayra. I love thee and trust thee, my friend." CHAPTER XII SHOWS HOW DONNA MERCEDES CHOSE DEATH RATHER THAN GIVE UP CAPTAIN ALVARADO, AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE ROAD OVER THE MOUNTAINS They set forth early in the morning. There was a cool freshness in the air from the storm of the day before and if they wished to avoid the necessity of traveling in the heat of the day early departure was necessary. Although the season was summer in a tropic land not far from the equator, the altitude of Caracas lowered the ordinary temperature to an agreeable degree, but after they crossed the pass of La Veta and began the descent toward La Guayra they would be within the confines of one of the hottest localities on the face of the globe. [Illustration] Early as it was, the Viceroy and his officers, including, of course, de Tobar, were assembled in the patio to bid the travelers godspeed. While de Lara gave a few parting directions to Alvarado, Don Felipe took advantage of the opportunity and of his position as the publicly affianced of Donna Mercedes to address her a few words in farewell, which she received with listless indifference that did not bode well for the future happiness of either of them. The final preparations were soon over. Don Felipe lifted Donna Mercedes to the saddle of her Spanish jennet; some of the other gentlemen assisted the Señora Agapida to the back of the sure-footed mule which she had elected as her mount; Alvarado saluted and sprang to the back of his mettlesome barb, and, followed by a half-dozen troopers who constituted the escort, the rear being brought up by servants with pack mules carrying the personal baggage of the two ladies, the little cavalcade moved off, the gentlemen in the Viceroy's suite standing bareheaded in the doorway as they disappeared under the trees and began the ascent toward the pass. With the whispered assurance of his friend, "I trust you," still ringing in his ear, with the sound of the Viceroy's stern voice, "I know not what danger could befall my child in this peaceful time, but I have a premonition that something threatens, and I charge you to guard her welfare and happiness with your life," still fresh in his mind, Alvarado, whose white, haggard face showed that he had passed a sleepless night, rode at the head of the column. Some distance in front of him rode a trooper, for there were even then thieves, wandering bands of masterless men who levied bloody toll on travelers from the capitol whenever they got opportunity. Next to the captain came the sergeant of the little guard, then the two women, followed closely by two more of the soldiers, after that the little pack train, which he had ordered to close up and keep in touch after they left the city, and, last of all, the two remaining soldiers to bring up the rear. The soldiers, servants, and muleteers were in high spirits. There was little danger to be apprehended, for the party was too strong to fear attack from any of the brigand bodies, and the military order of march was taken more as a matter of habit than from any special need. The day was pleasant, the scenery, though familiar, was at the same time grand and beautiful, and they were happy--all, that is, except Donna Mercedes, the duenna, and Alvarado. The worthy Señora Agapida with womanly shrewdness more than suspected the true state of affairs. Indeed, Mercedes, who loved the old woman, who had been as a mother to her, her own mother having died when she was a mere child, had scarcely taken the trouble to conceal her misery, and the old woman's heart was wrung whenever she looked at the drooping figure at her side. She would fain have brought the flush of happiness to the face of the girl she loved, by throwing her into the arms of Alvarado; but, as a distant connection of the de Laras herself, the worthy dame had her own notions of pride, and her honor would not permit her to do anything for which the Viceroy could properly fault her. The ancient duenna was an indifferent horsewoman, too, and although she had the easiest and surest footed beast of the party she journeyed with many sighs and groans of dissatisfaction. She bravely made an effort at first to cheer up her charge, but soon perceived that the task was beyond her powers, so she rode along in a silence unbroken save by her frequent ejaculations. When Mercedes had met Alvarado early in the morning she had acknowledged his profound salutation with the curtest and coldest of nods. She was furiously and bitterly angry with him; for, between duty, honor, friendship, and her love, he had not chosen her. She knew that he loved her. She had known it a long time, and, if she had the slightest doubt, the sincerity with which he had spoken the night before, the fierce, passionate fervor of the kisses that he had pressed upon her lips, his utter abandonment to his passion, had more than satisfied her. Yet, when she had offered to throw everything to the winds--love, duty, obedience, if he would only take her away--he had hesitated. With her, a woman who had all Venezuela at her feet, held in his arms, he had repulsed her, refused her! He had heard the open confession of her overwhelming love for him, and he had resisted her! With the feel of her heart beating against his own, he had strained her to his breast and prated of honor and duty! She was mad with anger and disappointment. She loathed him; she hated him; she raged against him in her heart. Why had he not killed de Tobar where he stood, seized her in his arms, braved the anger of her father, and galloped away--anywhere out into the mysterious southland where they could be together? Well and good, she would marry Don Felipe. She would assume a happiness that she could not feel and kill him with the sight of it. He had disdained her; he should suffer, suffer in proportion to his love, such torments as he had made her suffer last night--shame, disappointment, indignation. She had not slept the entire night, either, thinking these things, yet it had not all been pain. How nobly he had lied to save her! He, to whom a lie was worse than death. He had tried to assume dishonor for her sake. He loved her; yes, there was no doubt of it. She closed her eyes with the thought and her whole being was filled with exquisite anguish. He loved her, he was made for her, yet when he might have taken her he refused. De Tobar was indeed a brave and gallant gentleman, but his qualities were as moonlight to the sunlight compared to those of Alvarado. In spite of herself, though the mere suggestion of it angered her, she found herself obliged to grant that there was something noble in that position he had assumed which so filled her with fury. It was not, with him, a question of loving duty and honor more than herself, but it was a question of doing duty and preserving honor, though the heart broke and the soul was rent in the effort. Because he had the strength to do these things, not to betray his friend, not to return ingratitude to her father, who had been a father to him too, not to be false to his military honor; because he had the strength to control himself, she felt dimly how strong his passion might be. In spite of her careful avoidance of his eyes, her cold demeanor, that morning, she had marked the haggard, pale face of the young soldier to whom she had given her heart, which showed that he, too, had suffered. She watched him as he rode, superb horseman that he was, at the head of the little cavalcade. Tall, straight, erect, graceful, she was glad that he rode in advance with his back to her, so that she might follow him with her eyes, her gaze unheeded by any but Señora Agapida, and for her she did not care. As he turned at intervals to survey his charges, to see that all were keeping closed up and in order, by furtive glances she could mark with exultation the pallor that had taken the place of the ruddy hue on the fair cheek of her lover. She could even note the black circles under the blue eyes beneath the sunny hair, so different from her own midnight crown. How this man loved her! She could see, and know, and feel. Great as was her own passion, it did not outweigh his feeling. A tempest was raging in his bosom. The girl who watched him could mark the progress of the storm in the deeps of his soul, for his face told the tale of it. And, indeed, his thoughts were bitter. What must she think of him? He had been a fool. Happiness had been his for the taking, and he had thrown it away. Why had he not brushed de Tobar out of his path, silenced the Viceroy--no, not by death, but by binding him fast, and then taken the woman he loved and who loved him, for she had proved it by her utter abandonment of herself to him? Those old soldiers who had served him for many years would have followed him wherever he led. The Viceroy's arm was long, but they could have found a haven where they could have been together. God had made them for each other and he had refused. He had thrust her aside. He had pushed the cup of happiness from his own lips with his own hand. Honor was a name, duty an abstraction, gratitude a folly. What must she think of him? There had been no reservation in her declaration of affection. For him she was willing to give up all, and though he had vowed and protested in his heart that there was nothing she could ask of him that he would not grant her, he had been able to do nothing after all. He wished it was all to do over again. Now it was too late. To the chains of duty, honor, gratitude, had been added that of his plighted word. Knowing his love, de Tobar, his friend, had trusted him. Knowing his daughter's love, the Viceroy had also trusted him. He was locked with fetters, bound and sealed, helpless. And yet the temptation grew with each hour. He had suspected, he had dreamed, he had hoped, that Mercedes loved him, now he was sure of it. Oh, what happiness might have been his! What was this mystery about his birth? He had been picked up a baby in a deserted village outside of Panama. He had been found by the young Count de Lara, who had led his troops to the succor of that doomed town, which, unfortunately, he had only reached after the buccaneers had departed. Search had been made for his parents but without success. The Viceroy finding none to claim the bright-faced baby, had given him a name and had caused him to be brought up in his own household. There was nothing in his apparel to distinguish him save the exquisite fineness and richness of the material. Thrown around his neck had been a curiously wrought silver crucifix on a silver chain, and that crucifix he had worn ever since. It lay upon his breast beneath his clothing now. It was the sole object which connected him with his past. Who had been his father, his mother? How had a baby so richly dressed come to be abandoned in a small obscure village outside the walls of Panama, which would have escaped the ravages of the buccaneers on account of its insignificance, had it not lain directly in their backward path. They had destroyed it out of mere wantonness. And there was another thought which often came to him and caused his cheeks to burn with horror. If, as his clothing had indicated, he had been the child of wealth, did not his obscure position indicate that he was at the same time the child of shame? Since he had reached man's estate he had thought of these things often and had prayed that in some way, at some time, the mystery might be solved, for the suspense was worse than any assurance, however dreadful. He had often thought with longing upon his father, his mother. This morning in the bitterness of his heart he cursed them for the situation in which he found himself. He despaired at last of ever finding out anything. What mattered it now? He might be of the proudest and most honorable lineage in New Spain, a Soto-Mayor, a Bobadilla, even a de Guzman. It would advantage him nothing since he had lost Mercedes. In spite of himself he groaned aloud, and the girl riding a little distance behind him heard the sound of anguish in his voice. Her heart, which had been yearning toward him with increasing force, was stirred within her bosom. "Ride thou here," she said suddenly to Señora Agapida, "I go forward to speak with Captain Alvarado." "But, señorita, thy father----" "Is it not permitted that I speak with the captain of the soldiery who escort me?" "Certainly, if I am by." "I do not choose to have it so," replied Mercedes, with all the haughtiness of her father. "Remain here. I will return presently." Brushing her aside with an imperious wave of her hand and a threatening glance before which the poor duenna quailed, for her charge had never shown such spirit before, Mercedes struck her Spanish jennet with the whip she carried, passed around the intervening soldier, who courteously gave way to her, and reined in her steed by Alvarado's horse. So close, indeed, was she to the captain that she almost touched him. It was good to see the light leap in his eyes, the flush come into his pale cheek as he became aware of her presence. "Donna Mercedes!" he cried in surprise. "Is anything wrong? Where is the Señora Agapida?" "Nothing is wrong. I left her there." "Shall I summon her?" "Art afraid to speak to me, to a woman, alone, sir captain?" "Nay, señorita, but 'tis unseemly----" "Wouldst thou lesson me in manners, master soldier?" cried the girl haughtily. "God forbid, lady, but thy father----" "He laid no injunction upon me that I should not speak to you, sir. Is that forbidden?" "Of course not, but----" "But what, sir? It is your own weakness you fear? You were strong enough last night. Have you, by chance--repented?" There was such a passionate eagerness in her voice, and such a leaping hope for an affirmative answer in the glance she bent upon him, that he could scarce sustain the shock of it. His whole soul had risen to meet hers, coming as she came. He trembled at her propinquity. The voice of the girl thrilled him as never before. The sergeant who followed them, out of respect for their confidences checked the pace of his troop horse somewhat and the two advanced some distance from him out of earshot. The unhappy duenna watched them with anxious eyes, but hesitated to attempt to join them. Indeed, the way was blocked for such an indifferent horsewoman as she by the adroit manoeuvres of the sergeant. He was devoted to his young commander and he had surmised the state of affairs also. He would have had no scruples whatever in facilitating a meeting, even an elopement. The two lovers, therefore, could speak unobserved, or at least unheard by any stranger. "Lady," said Alvarado at last, "I am indeed afraid. You make the strong, weak. Your beauty--forgive me--masters me. For God's sake, for Christ, His Mother, tempt me not! I can stand no more--" he burst forth with vehemence. "What troubles thee, Alvarado?" she said softly. "Thou--and my plighted word." "You chose honor and duty last night when you might have had me. Art still in the same mind?" "Señorita, this subject is forbidden." "Stop!" cried the girl, "I absolve you from all injunctions of silence. I, too, am a de Lara, and in my father's absence the head of the house. The duty thou hast sworn to him thou owest me. Art still in the same mind as last night, I say?" "Last night I was a fool!" "And this morning?" "I am a slave." "A slave to what? To whom?" "Donna Mercedes," he cried, turning an imploring glance upon her, "press me no further. Indeed, the burden is greater than I can bear." "A slave to whom?" she went on insistently, seeing an advantage and pressing it hard. She was determined that she would have an answer. No conviction of duty or feeling of filial regard was strong enough to overwhelm love in this woman's heart. As she spoke she flashed upon him her most brilliant glance and by a deft movement of her bridle hand swerved the jennet in closer to his barb. She laid her hand upon his strong arm and bent her head close toward him. They were far from the others now and the turns of the winding road concealed them. "A slave to whom? Perhaps to--me?" she whispered. "Have mercy on me!" he cried. "To you? Yes. But honor, duty----" "Again those hateful words!" she interrupted, her dark face flushing with anger. "Were I a man, loved I a woman who loved me as I--as I--as one you know, I would have seized her in spite of all the world! Once she had fled to the shelter of my arms, while life beat in my heart none should tear her thence." "Thy father----" "He thinks not of my happiness." "Say not so, Donna Mercedes." "'Tis true. It is a matter of convenient arrangement. Two ancient names, two great fortunes cry aloud for union and they drown the voice of the heart. I am bestowed like a chattel." "Don Felipe----" "Is an honorable gentleman, a brave one. He needs no defense at my hands. That much, at least, my father did. There is no objection to my suitor save that I do not love him." "In time--in time you may," gasped Alvarado. "Dost thou look within thine own heart and see a fancy so evanescent that thou speakest thus to me?" "Nay, not so." "I believe thee, and were a thousand years to roll over my head thine image would still be found here." She laid her tiny gloved hand upon her breast as she spoke in a low voice, and this time she looked away from him. He would have given heaven and earth to have caught her yielding figure in his arms. She drooped in the saddle beside him in a pose which was a confession of womanly weakness and she swayed toward him as if the heart in her body cried out to that which beat in his own breast. "Mercedes! Mercedes!" he said, "you torture me beyond endurance! Go back to your duenna, to Señora Agapida, I beg of you! I can stand no more! I did promise and vow in my heart--my honor--my duty----" "Ay, with men it is different," said the girl, and the sound of a sob in her voice cut him to the heart, "and these things are above love, above everything. I do not--I can not understand. I can not comprehend. You have rejected me--I have offered myself to you a second time--after the refusal of last night. Where is my Spanish pride? Where is my maidenly modesty? That reserve that should be the better part of woman is gone. I know not honor--duty--I only know that though you reject me, I am yours. I, too, am a slave. I love you. Nay, I can not marry Don Felipe de Tobar. 'Twere to make a sacrilege of a sacrament." [Illustration: Alvarado threw his right arm around her, and with a force superhuman dragged her from the saddle.] "Thy father----" "I have done my best to obey him. I can no more." "What wilt thou do?" "This!" cried the girl desperately. The road at the point they had arrived wound sharply around the spur of the mountain which rose above them thousands of feet on one side and fell abruptly away in a terrific precipice upon the other. As she spoke she struck her horse again with the whip. At the same time by a violent wrench on the bridle rein she turned him swiftly toward the open cliff. Quick as she had been, however, Alvarado's own movement was quicker. He struck spur into his powerful barb and with a single bound was by her side, in the very nick of time. Her horse's forefeet were slipping among the loose stones on the edge. In another second they would both be over. Alvarado threw his right arm around her and with a force superhuman dragged her from the saddle, at the same time forcing his own horse violently backward with his bridle hand. His instant promptness had saved her, for the frightened horse she rode, unable to control himself, plunged down the cliff and was crushed to death a thousand feet below. CHAPTER XIII IN WHICH CAPTAIN ALVARADO IS FORSWORN AND WITH DONNA MERCEDES IN HIS ARMS BREAKS HIS PLIGHTED WORD "My God!" cried the young soldier hoarsely, straining her to his breast, while endeavoring to calm his nervous and excited horse. "What would you have done?" [Illustration] "Why didn't you let me go?" she asked, struggling feebly in his arms. "It would all have been over then." "I could not, I love you." The words were wrung from him in spite of himself by her deadly peril, by her desperate design which he had only frustrated by superhuman quickness and strength. He was pale, shaking, trembling, unnerved, for her. He scarce knew what he said or did, so little command had he over himself. As he spoke those words "I love you," so blissful for her to hear, she slipped her arm around his neck. It was not in mortal man to resist under such circumstances. He forgot everything--honor, duty, his word, everything he threw to the winds. Before the passion which sought death when denied him his own powers of resistance vanished. He strained her to his breast and bent his head to kiss her. Again and again he drank at the upturned fountain of affection, her lips. The shock had been too much for him. Greater for him than for her. He had seen her upon the verge of eternity. She thought nothing of that in her present joy. She only realized that she was in his arms again, that he had kissed her, and between the kisses he poured out words that were even greater caresses. The others were far behind. They were alone upon the mountain-side with the rocks behind and the great sapphire sea of the Caribbean before them. He held her close to his breast and they forgot everything but love as they gently pricked along the road. It was near noon now, and as the road a furlong farther debouched into an open plateau shaded by trees and watered by a running brook which purled down the mountain-side from some inaccessible cloud-swept height it was a fitting place to make camp, where the whole party, tired by a long morning's travel, could repose themselves until the breeze of afternoon tempered the heat of the day. Here he dismounted, lifted her from horse, and they stood together, side by side. "You have saved me," she whispered, "you have drawn me back from the death that I sought. God has given me to you. We shall never be parted." "I am a false friend, an ungrateful servitor, a forsworn man, a perjured soldier!" he groaned, passing his hand over his pale brow as if to brush away the idea consequent upon his words. "But thou hast my love," she whispered tenderly, swaying toward him again. "Yes--yes. Would that it could crown something else than my dishonor." "Say not so." She kissed him again, fain to dispel the shadow that darkened his face. "I had been faithful," he went on, as if in justification, "had I not seen thee on the brink of that cliff, and then thou wert in my arms--I was lost----" "And I was found. I leaped to death. I shut my eyes as I drove the horse toward the cliff, and I awakened to find myself in your arms--in heaven! Let nothing take me hence." "It can not be," he said, "I must go to the Viceroy when he returns from the Orinoco war, and tell him that I have betrayed him." "I will tell him," she answered, "or wilt thou tell him what I tell thee?" she went on. "Surely." "Then say to him that I sought death rather than be given to Don Felipe or to any one else. Tell him you saved me on the very brink of the cliff, and that never soldier made a better fight for field or flag than thou didst make for thy honor and duty, but that I broke thee down. I had the power, and I used it. The story is as old as Eden--the woman tempted--" "I should have been stronger--I should not have weakened. But I shall fight no more--it is all over." "Ah, thou canst not," she whispered, nestling closer to him. "And tell my father that should harm come to thee, if, in their anger, he or de Tobar lay hand upon thee, it will not advantage their plans, for I swear, if there be no other way, I will starve myself to death to follow thee!" "I can not shelter myself behind a woman." "Then I will tell them both myself," she cried. "You shall know, they shall know, how a Spanish woman can love." "And thou shalt know, too," answered Alvarado firmly, "that though I break my heart, I, an unknown, can expatiate his guilt with all the pride of most ancient lineage and birth highest of them all." It was a brave speech, but he did not release his hold upon Mercedes and in spite of his words when, confident that whatever he might say, however he might struggle, he was hers at last, she smiled up at him again, he kissed her. "When go you to my father, Señor Alvarado?" she asked. "When he returns from the Orinoco." "And that will not be until----" "Perhaps a month." "Wilt love me until then?" "I shall love thee forever." "Nay, but wilt thou tell me so, with every day, every week, every hour, every moment, with kisses like to these?" "Oh, tempt me not!" he whispered; but he returned again and again her caresses. "Ah, my Alvarado, if you have once fallen, what then? Is not one kiss as bad as a thousand?" "Be it so; we will be happy until that time." "One month, one month of heaven, my love, after that let come what may," she answered, her cheeks and eyes aflame, her heart throbbing with exquisite pain in her breast. They would enjoy the day, the future could take care of itself. "Some one approaches!" he said at last, and at the same moment the rest of the party came around the bend of the road. The poor duenna was consumed with anxiety and remorse. "Bernardo," said Alvarado to the sergeant, "we will take our siesta here. Unsaddle the horses and prepare the noon-day meal under the trees. Send one of the troopers ahead to bid Fadrique stop on the road until we rejoin him, keeping good guard. Señora Agapida, you must be tired from the long ride. Let me assist you to dismount." "The Señorita Mercedes!" she asked, as he lifted her to the ground. "Where is her horse?" "He slipped and fell," answered the girl promptly. "Fell? Madre de Dios!" "Yes, over the cliff. Captain Alvarado lifted me from the saddle just in time." "I shall make a novena of devotion to St. Jago for thy preservation, sweet Mercedes," cried the duenna, "and you, young sir, must have a strong arm----" "It is ever at your service," answered Alvarado gravely, bowing before her. The old woman's heart went out to the gallant young man, so handsome, so brave, so strong, so distinguished looking. "Why," she mused under her breath, "could he not have been the one?" By this time the little place was filled with soldiers, attendants, and muleteers. Some kindled fires, others unpacked hampers loaded with provisions, others prepared a place where the party might rest, and as, to restore order out of this confusion, Alvarado turned hither and thither he was followed in all his movements by the lovely eyes of the woman who had broken him, and who had won him. During the interval of repose the young man allowed his party the two lovers were constantly together. Alvarado had made a faint effort to go apart and leave Mercedes to herself, but with passionate determination she had refused to allow it. She had thrown prudence to the winds. Careless of whoever might see, of whoever might comment, heedless of the reproving duenna, indifferent to ancient practice, reckless of curious glances, she had insisted upon accompanying the captain and he had yielded. He was doomed in his own soul to death. He intended to tell the Viceroy and de Tobar everything, and he had no doubt that one or the other would instantly kill him. It was a fate to which he would make no resistance. Meanwhile he would enjoy the day. There was a melancholy pleasure, too, in the thought, for this morning had assured him of it, that whatever awaited him Mercedes would belong to no one else. If they killed him she had sworn that she would not survive him. If they strove to force her into the arms of another, she had declared she would die rather than comply, and he believed her. Other women in like circumstances might have resorted to a convent, but Mercedes was not of the temperament which makes that calm harbor an inviting refuge. If she could not have Alvarado, she would simply die--that was all. Under the circumstances, therefore, as he had already forfeited his own esteem, he hesitated no more. Indeed, before the passion of the woman he loved, who loved him, it was not possible. In her presence he could do nothing else. They abandoned themselves with all the fervor of youth and passion to their transports of affection. They wandered away from the others and by the side of the brook beneath the shelter of the trees remained together and whispered all the love that beat within their freed breasts. They might die to-morrow, to-day they lived and loved. Fain would they have prolonged the Elysian dream forever, but the descending sun of the afternoon at last warned Alvarado, if they would reach La Guayra that night, that they must resume their journey. Reluctantly he gave the order to mount. This time, utterly indifferent to the Señora Agapida, Mercedes, mounted on one of the led horses, rode openly by Alvarado's side. Sustained by his presence, constantly in touch with him, she made the way down the difficult wanderings of the rocky mountain trail. They watched the sun set in all its glory over the tropic sea. The evening breeze blew softly about them riding side by side. Then the night fell upon them. Over them blazed the glorious canopy of the tropic stars, chief among them the fiery Southern Cross, emblem of the faith they cherished, the most marvelous diadem in the heavens. There below them twinkled the lights of La Guayra. The road grew broader and smoother now. It was almost at the level of the beach. They would have to pass through the town presently, and thence up a steep rocky road which wound around the mountain until they surmounted the cliff back of the city and arrived at the palace of the Governor upon the hillside, where Mercedes was to lodge. An hour, at least, would bring them to their destination now. There was nothing to apprehend. The brigands in the fastnesses of the mountains or the savages, who sometimes strayed along the road, never ventured so near the town. Fadrique, by Alvarado's orders, had fallen back nearer the main body so as to be within call. "We shall be there in a little while. See yonder, the lights of the town," said the captain. "While thou art with me," said the girl, "it matters little where we are. There are but two places in the world now----" "And those are----?" "Where thou art and where thou art not. If I may only be with thee, if we may be together, I want nothing else." She had scarcely spoken before the sound of a cry followed by a shot broke on the night. BOOK IV IN WHICH IS RELATED AN ACCOUNT OF THE TAKING OF LA GUAYRA BY THE BUCCANEERS AND THE DREADFUL PERILS OF DONNA MERCEDES DE LARA AND CAPTAIN ALVARADO IN THAT CITY CHAPTER XIV WHEREIN THE CREW OF THE GALLEON INTERCEPTS THE TWO LOVERS BY THE WAY The terrific impact of the huge ship on the sand among the breakers which thundered and beat upon her sides with overwhelming force came just in the nick of time for Morgan. Had the disaster been delayed a second longer the furious buccaneers would have cut him down where he stood. Even the officers were angered beyond measure at him for their present situation, which threatened the loss of the vast treasure already gained in the ship, although they had consented to Morgan's proposition to attack La Guayra and Caracas, and the captain was in no way responsible for the storm and the wreck which jeoparded their booty and their future. Therefore it is probable that none of them, unless it were Teach, would have interfered to save Morgan, and he would have been swept from his feet by the savage men and instantly killed, in spite of all that he, or Carib, or any one else could have done. But the violence of the shock when the ship took ground threw them to the deck, and they forgot for the instant their bloody purpose of vengeance in the inevitableness of their approaching danger; they were checked in their mad anger for a few seconds and given a moment for reflection, that moment convinced them that they could not yet dispense with the services of their captain. With black rage and white fear striving for mastery in their hearts, they rose to their feet and faced him with menacing faces and threatening gestures. "What's to be done now?" questioned one bolder than the rest. "Now's the time," roared the undaunted Morgan, striving to make himself heard by all above the thundering seas, "to show your courage, lads!" He had quickly observed that the force with which she had been driven on the shoals had shoved the galleon's nose firmly in the sand. She had been caught just before she took ground by a tremendous roller and had been lifted up and hurled far over to starboard. Although almost on her beam ends, her decks inclining landward, the strongly-built ship held steady in spite of the tremendous onslaughts of the seas along her bilge. "Take heart, men!" he cried. "Observe. She lies still and secure. 'Tis a stout hulk and will take a tremendous battering before she breaks. We may yet save ourselves." "And the treasure?" roared one. "Ay, and the treasure." "I think the storm has about blown itself out," interposed old Hornigold, shouting out at this instant. "Look you, mates," he cried, pointing to westward, "it clears! The sun'll set fair to-night." "The bo's'n is right," cried Morgan. "But first of all we must take no chances with our lives. Even though we lose the ship we can seize another. The world is full of treasure and we can find it. Now I want some one to carry a line ashore through the breakers. Who will volunteer?" "I," said Carib instantly. "I need you here," answered Morgan, who did not purpose to be deprived of that bodyguard upon whose watchfulness his life had so often depended. "I'll go," exclaimed young Teach, breaking through the crowd. "That's a brave heart!" said Morgan. "A line here!" Instantly a light line was forthcoming. Teach tore off his jacket, laid aside his weapons, kicked off his shoes, took a turn of the line around his waist, made it fast, wrung Morgan's hand, watched his chance, leaped overboard, was caught by an onrushing wave and carried far toward the shore. The ebb of the roller carried him back seaward some distance, but he swam forward madly, and the next wave brought him a little nearer the beach. He was driven backward and forward, but each time managed to get a little nearer the shore line. The whole ship's company stared after him, spontaneously cheering and yelling cries of encouragement in spite of the fact that he could not hear a single sound in the roaring, raging seas. Morgan himself tended the line, skilfully paying it out when necessary. In a few moments, although the time seemed hours to the watchers, the feet of Teach touched the shore, and although the terrific undertow of the wave that had dropped him there almost bore him back again, yet by a superhuman exertion he managed to stagger forward, and the next moment they saw him fall prostrate on the sand. Had he fainted or given way? They looked at him with bated breath but after a little space they saw him rise slowly to his feet and stagger inland toward a low point where a lofty palm tree was writhing and twisting in the fierce wind. He was too good a seaman not instantly to see what was required of him, for, waving his hand toward the ship he at once began to haul in the line. Ready hands had bent a larger rope to it, which was succeeded by a third, strong enough to bear a man's weight. The buccaneer hauled this last in with great difficulty, for the distance was far and the wet rope was heavy. He climbed up and made it fast to the tree and then waited. As soon as he had done so there was a rush on the ship for the line which had been made fast inboard temporarily. Morgan, however, interposed between the crew and the coveted way to safety. "Back!" he shouted. "One at a time, and the order as I appoint! You, L'Ollonois, and you, and you," he cried, indicating certain men upon whom he could depend. "Go in succession. Then haul a heavier rope ashore. We'll put a traveler with a bo's'n's chair on it, and send these nuns and the priests first of all." "Do we have to wait for a lot of wimmin and papists?" growled one man among the frightened rascals. "You have to wait until the ship breaks up beneath your feet, if it is my pleasure," said Morgan, coolly, and they slunk back again, cowed. He was master of the situation once more. There was something about that man that enforced obedience, whether they would or no. His orders were promptly obeyed and intelligently carried out by L'Ollonois and his men, who first went ashore. A heavy hawser was dragged through the surf and made fast high up on the sturdy palm tree. On it they rigged a traveler and the chair, and then the frightened nuns were brought forward from the cabin. The women were sick with apprehension. They knew, of course, that the ship had struck, and they had been expecting instant death. Their prayers had been rudely interrupted by Morgan's messenger, and when they came out on deck in that stern tempest, amid that body of wild, ruthless men, their hearts sank within them. At the sight of those human fiends they would fain have welcomed that watery grave from which they had just been imploring God to save them. When they discovered that their only means of safety lay in making that perilous passage through the waters which overwhelmed the bight of rope in which hung the boatswain's chair, they counted themselves as dead. Indeed, they would have refused to go had it not been for the calm and heroic resolution of the abbess, their leader, Sister Maria Christina, who strove to assuage their fears. "Hornigold," said Morgan, "are you still faithful to me in this crisis?" "I shall obey you in all things--now," answered the boatswain. "Swear it." "By the old buccaneer faith," said the One-Eyed, again adding the significant adverb, "now." For a wonder, the captain paid no attention to the emphasis on the word, "now." "Can you keep your pistols dry?" "I can wrap them in oilskin and thrust them in my jacket." "Go to the shore, then," said Morgan, "and receive these women. March them away from the men to yonder clump of palms, and guard them as you would your life. If any man approach you or them for any purpose, shoot him dead without a word. I'll see that the others have no weapons. D'ye understand?" "Ay, and shall obey." "Go!" The boatswain swung himself into the chair and the men on the other end of the traveler pulled him to the other shore, none the worse for his wetting. He opened his jacket, found the weapons dry, and waved his hand as a sign to Morgan that he was all right. "Which of you women will go first?" asked Morgan. He turned instinctively to the tall abbess, towering among her shrinking sisters. She indicated first one and then another among the poor captives, and as they refused, she turned to Morgan and, with a grave dignity, said in Spanish, of which he was a master, that she would go first to show the way, and then the others would be in better heart to follow. She sat down on the boatswain's chair--which, was simply a bit of wood held like the seat of a swing in a triangle of rope--made the sign of the cross, and waved her hand. She was hauled ashore in an instant with nothing worse to complain of than a drenching by the waves. By Hornigold's direction she walked past him toward the clump of palms which Morgan had indicated. One after another of the women were sent forward until the whole party was ashore. Then the Spanish priests took their turn, and after these reached the sand the rest of the crew were sent ashore. Morgan was careful to indicate each one's turn, so that he preserved a balance between the more reputable and the more degraded members of the crew, both on ship and shore. Among the last to go were the maroon and de Lussan, each armed as Hornigold had been. They had both received instructions, one to station himself at the palm tree, the other to cover the hawser where it ran along the shore before it entered the water. These precautionary orders which he had given were necessary, for when the last man had been hauled ashore and Morgan stepped into the chair for his turn, one of the infuriated buccaneers, watching his chance, seized his jack-knife, the only weapon that he had, for Morgan had been careful to make the men leave their arms on the ship, and made a rush for the rope to cut it and leave the captain to his fate. But de Lussan shot him dead, and before the others could make a move Morgan stepped safely on the sand. "That was well done," he cried, turning to the Frenchman. "Ah, mon capitaine," answered the other, "it was not from affection, but because you are necessary to us." "Whatever it may be," returned the old man, "I owe much to you and scuttle me, I'll not forget it." The Frenchman, indifferent to Morgan's expressions of gratitude, shrugged his shoulders, turned away, and made no reply. The transportation of so many people across the slender line had taken a long time. The sun, just beginning to break through the riven clouds, was near its setting; night would soon be upon them. They must hurry with what was yet to be done. Morgan sent Teach and the Brazilian back to the ship with instructions to gather up enough weapons to arm the crew and to send them ashore. This was promptly done. Indeed, communication was not difficult now that the force of the gale was abating. The ship had been badly battered but still held together, and would hold unless the storm came up again. As the arms came ashore Morgan served them out to those men whom he considered most reliable; and, after throwing out a strong guard around the band, the rest sought shelter around huge driftwood fires which had been kindled by the use of flint and steel. There was hardly a possibility they would be observed in that deserted land, but still it was wise to take precaution. Morgan ordered the women and priests to be double-guarded by the trustiest, and it was well that he did so. He gave old Hornigold particular charge of them. The buccaneers were hungry and thirsty, but they were forced to do without everything until morning when they could get all they wanted from the ship. So they tightened their belts and disposed themselves about the fires as best they could to get what rest they might. [Illustration: But de Lussan shot him dead, and before the others could make a move, Morgan stepped safely on the sand.] Morgan and the officers drew apart and consulted long and earnestly over the situation. They could never make the ship seaworthy again. To build a smaller one out of her timbers would be the work of months and when it was finished it could not possibly carry the whole crew. To march westward toward the Isthmus meant to encounter terrific hardships for days; their presence would speedily become known, and they would be constantly menaced or attacked by troops from the heavily garrisoned places like Porto Bello and Carthagena. Back of them a short distance away lay La Guayra. It could be taken by surprise, Morgan urged, and easily captured. If they started to march westward the Indians would apprise the Spaniards of their presence, and they would have to fight their way to the Pacific. If they took La Guayra, then the Viceroy, with the treasure of his palace and the opulent city of Caracas would be at their mercy. They could ravage the two towns, seize the first ship that came to the roadstead, and make their way to the Isthmus safely and speedily. As to the treasure on the galleon, the buccaneer captain proposed to unload it and bury it in the sand, and after they had captured La Guayra it would be easy to get it back again. Morgan's counsel prevailed, and his was the resolution to which they came. The council of war broke up thereafter, and those not told off to watch with the guards went to sleep near the fires. Morgan, under the guardianship of the faithful Black Dog, threw himself upon the ground to catch a few hours' rest. The next morning the wind had died away and the sea was fairly calm. The men swam out to the galleon, found her still intact though badly strained, and by means of boats and rafts, working with persistent energy, succeeded in landing and burying the treasure under the very palm tree which held the rope that had given them salvation. Morgan's plan was an excellent one, the best that could be suggested in the straits they then were, and it received the hearty assent of all the men. It took them all day to land the treasure and make their other preparations, which included the manufacture of several rude scaling ladders, pieces of timber with cross pieces nailed upon them, which could be used in surmounting the walls of the town. In the evening the order of march was arranged and their departure set for the morrow. They had saved their treasure, they had food in plenty now, and with dry clothes and much rum they began to take a more cheerful view of life. They were fairly content once more. The next day, in the afternoon, for he desired to approach the town at nightfall, Morgan gave the order to advance. He was as much of a soldier as a sailor and sent ahead a party of choice spirits under Teach, while the main body followed some distance behind. As the shades of evening descended a messenger from the advance guard came back with the news that a party of travelers had been seen coming down the mountain; that they comprised a half-dozen troopers, a number of slaves, a heavily laden pack train, and two women. Teach had stationed his men under the trees at a bend of the road around which the travelers had to pass, and he awaited Morgan's orders. Taking a detachment of the most reliable men with Velsers and Hornigold, and bidding the other officers and men to stand where they were until he sent word, Morgan and those with him ran rapidly forward until they came to the ambuscade which young Teach had artfully prepared. He and his had scarcely time to dispose themselves for concealment before a soldier came riding carelessly down the road. Waiting until the man had passed him a short distance and until the other unsuspicious travelers were fairly abreast the liers-in-wait, whom he had charged on no account to move until he gave the word, Morgan stepped out into the open and called. The buccaneers instantly followed him. As the soldier saw these fierce looking men spring before him out of the darkness, he cried aloud. The next moment he was shot dead by Morgan himself. At the same instant a volley rang out at contact range, and every man in the party fell to the ground. Some were killed, others only wounded; all of them except Alvarado were injured in some way. He struck spurs into his horse when he heard the cry of Fadrique and the shot. The surprised barb plunged forward, was hit by half a dozen bullets, fell to the ground in a heap, and threw his rider over his head. The Spaniard scrambled to his feet, whipped out his sword, lunged forward and drove his blade into the breast of old Velsers. The next instant a dozen weapons flashed over his head. One rang upon his steel casque, another crashed against the polished breastplate that he wore. He cut out again in the darkness, and once more fleshed his weapon. Women's screams rose above the tumult. Beating back the swords which menaced him, although he was reeling from the blows which he had received, Alvarado strove to make his way toward Donna Mercedes, when he was seized in the darkness from behind. "Kill him!" cried a voice in English, which Alvarado and Mercedes both understood perfectly. "He's the only one alive." "Nay," cried another voice, stronger and sterner, "save him; we'll question him later. Did any escape?" "Not one." "Are there any horses alive?" "Two or three." "Bring them hither. Now back to the rest. Then we can show a light and see what we have captured. Teach, lead on. Let no harm come to the women." "Ay, ay," answered another voice out of the darkness, and a third voice growled out: "Hadn't we better make sure that none are alive to tell the tale?" "Of course; a knife for the wounded," answered the stern voice, "and bear a hand." Greatly surprised and unable to comprehend anything but that his men had been slaughtered and no harm had as yet befallen his charges, Alvarado, whose arms had been bound to his side, found himself dragged along in the wake of his captors, one or two of whom mounted on the unwounded horses, with the two women between them, rode rapidly down the road. CHAPTER XV TELLS HOW MERCEDES DE LARA RETURNED THE UNSOUGHT CARESS OF SIR HENRY MORGAN, AND THE MEANS BY WHICH THE BUCCANEERS SURMOUNTED THE WALLS One hundred yards or so beyond the place of the ambush the road dropped sharply over the last low cliff to the narrow strand which led to the west wall of La Guayra, distant a half a mile away. They had all been under the deep shadow of the thick trees overhanging the way until this instant, but in the faint light cast by the moon just risen, Alvarado could see that a great body of people were congregated before him on the road. Who they were and what they were he could not surmise. He was not long left in doubt, however, for the same voice whose commanding tones had caused his life to be spared, now called for lights. The demand was obeyed with a promptness that bespoke fear indeed, or discipline of the sternest, and soon the captives found themselves in a circle of lurid light sent forth by a number of blazing torches. The illumination revealed to Alvarado as villainous and terrible-looking a body of men as he had ever seen. The first glance convinced him that they were not Spanish brigands or robbers. He was too young to have had dealings with the buccaneers of the past generation, but he realized that if any such remained on this side of the earth, they must be like these men who surrounded him. He wasted no time in surmises, however, for after the first swift comprehensive glance his eyes sought Mercedes. She sat her horse free and uninjured apparently, for which he thanked God. She was leaning forward over her saddle and staring in bewilderment and surprise at the scene and confusion before her. "Donna Mercedes," cried Alvarado, turning himself about, in spite of his bonds and the restraint his immediate captors endeavored to put upon him, "are you safe--unhurt?" "Safe," answered the girl, "and thou?" "Well, but for these bonds." "God be thanked! Who are these men?" "I know not, but----" "Oh, sir," interrupted Señora Agapida, recovering her voice at the sound of the Spanish tongue, "for Christ's sake, what does this mean? Save us!" "Señora," said that same sharp voice, but this time speaking in the Spanish tongue, as a tall man, hat in hand, urged his horse forward, "fear nothing, you shall be protected. And you, señorita. Do I not have the honor of addressing Donna Mercedes de Lara?" "That is my name," answered the girl, haughtily. "Who are you? Why have you shot my people and seized me prisoner?" "For love of you, Mistress Mercedes." "Just heaven! Who are you, I say!" cried the girl at this startling answer, turning in surprise and terror to look upon his countenance. There was something familiar in the man's face that called up a vague recollection which she strove to master. "Who are you?" she cried again. "Sir Harry Morgan!" answered the horseman, bowing low over the saddle, "a free sailor at your service, ma'am." "My God!" cried Alvarado, who had listened attentively, "the buccaneer?" "The same," answered Morgan turning to him. "Sir Harry Morgan! Were you not Governor of Jamaica last year?" asked Mercedes in astonishment. "I had that honor, lady." "Why are you now in arms against us?" "A new king, Mistress de Lara, sits the English throne. He likes me not. I and these gallant seamen are going to establish a kingdom in some sweet island in the South Seas, with our good swords. I would fain have a woman to bear me company on the throne. Since I saw you in Jamaica last year, I have designed you for the honor----" "Monster!" screamed the girl, appalled by the hideous leer which accompanied his words. "Rather anything----" "Sir," interrupted Alvarado, "you are an Englishman. Your past rank should warrant you a gentleman, but for this. There is no war between England and Spain. What is the meaning of this outrage? This lady is the daughter of the Viceroy of Venezuela. I am his captain and the commandante of yonder city of La Guayra. You have waylaid us, taken us at a disadvantage. My men are killed. For this assault His Excellency will exact bloody reparation. Meanwhile give order that we be unbound, and let us pass." "Ho, ho!" laughed the buccaneer. "Think you I fear the Viceroy? Nay, not His Majesty of Spain himself! I came here with set purpose to take La Guayra and then Caracas, and to bear away with me this pretty lady upon whom, I repeat, I design to bestow the honor of my name." As he spoke he leaned toward Mercedes, threw his arm around her waist, and before she was even aware of her intention, kissed her roughly on the cheek. "Lads," he cried, "three cheers for the future Lady Morgan!" The proud Spanish girl turned white as death under this insult. Her eyes flashed like coals of fire. Morgan was close beside her. She was without weapon save a jeweled whip that hung at her wrist. Before the first note of a cheer could break from the lips of the men she lifted it and struck him violently again and again full in the face. "Thou devil!" cried the captain in fury, whipping out his sword and menacing her with it. "Strike!" cried Mercedes bravely, "and let my blood wash out the insult that you have put upon my cheek." She raised her whip once more, but this time young Teach, coming on the other side, caught her hand, wrested the jeweled toy from her, and broke it in the struggle. "Thou shalt pay dearly for those stripes, lady!" roared Morgan, swerving closer to her. "And not now in honorable wedlock----" "I will die first!" returned Mercedes. Alvarado, meanwhile, had been struggling desperately to free himself. By the exercise of superhuman strength, just as Morgan again menaced the woman he loved, he succeeded in freeing himself from his loosely-tied bonds. His guards for the moment had their attention distracted from him by the group on horseback. He wrenched a sword from the hand of one, striking him a blow with his naked fist that sent him reeling as he did so, and then flung out his other arm so that the heavy pommel of the sword struck the second guard in the face, and the way was clear for the moment. He sprang forward instantly, seized Morgan's horse, forced him away from Mercedes by a wrench of his powerful arm, and stood at bay in front of the woman he loved. He said no word but stood with his sword up on guard, panting heavily from his fierce exertions. "Alvarado, you will be killed!" screamed the girl, seeing the others make for him. "Here we have it," sneered Morgan. "This is the secret of your refusal. He is your lover." "Seize him!" cried Teach, raising his sword, as followed by the others he made at Alvarado, who awaited them undaunted. "Stay!" shouted de Lussan, "there is a better way." Rudely shoving Señora Agapida aside, he seized Mercedes from behind. "Do not move, mademoiselle," he said in French, in his excitement, which fortunately she understood. "That's well done!" cried Morgan, "Captain Alvarado, if that be your name, throw down your sword if you would save the lady's life." "Mind me not, Alvarado," cried Mercedes, but Alvarado, perceiving the situation, instantly dropped his weapon. "Now seize him and bind him again! And you, dogs!" Morgan added, turning to the men who had allowed the prisoner to slip before, "if he escape you again you shall be hanged to the nearest tree!" "Hadst not better bind the woman, too?" queried the Frenchman gently, still holding her fast in his fierce grasp. "Ay, the wench as well. Oh, I'll break your spirit, my pretty one," answered Morgan savagely, flipping the young woman's cheek. "Wilt pay me blows for kisses? Scuttle me, you shall crawl at my feet before I've finished with you!" "Why not kill this caballero out of hand, captain?" asked Hornigold, savage from a slight wound, as he limped up to Morgan. "No, I have use for him. Are the rest silent?" "They will tell no tales," laughed L'Ollonois grimly. "Did none escape back up the road?" "None, Sir Henry," answered the other. "My men closed in after them and drove them forward. They are all gone." "That's well. Now, for La Guayra. What force is there, Señor Capitan?" Alvarado remained obstinately silent. He did not speak even when Morgan ruthlessly cut him across the cheek with his dagger. He did not utter a sound, although Mercedes groaned in anguish at the sight of his torture. "You'd best kill him, captain," said L'Ollonois. "No, I have need for him, I say," answered Morgan, giving over the attempt to make him speak. "Is any one here who has been at La Guayra recently?" he asked of the others. "I was there last year on a trading ship of France," answered Sawkins. "What garrison then?" "About two hundred and fifty." "Was it well fortified?" "As of old, sir, by the forts on either side and a rampart along the sea wall." "Were the forts in good repair?" "Well kept indeed, but most of the guns bore seaward." "Have you the ladders ready?" cried Morgan to Braziliano, who had been charged to convey the rude scaling ladders by which they hoped to get over the walls. "All ready, captain," answered that worthy. "Let us go forward then. We'll halt just out of musket-shot and concert our further plans. We have the Governor in our hands, lads. The rest will be easy. There is plenty of plunder in La Guayra, and when we have made it our own we'll over the mountains and into Caracas. Hornigold, you are lame from a wound, look to the prisoners." "To La Guayra! To La Guayra!" enthusiastically shouted the men, taking up the line of march. The rising moon flooding the white strand made the scene as light as day. They kept good watch on the walls of La Guayra, for the sound of the shots in the night air had been heard by some keen-eared sentry, and as a result the garrison had been called to arms. The firing had been too heavy to be accounted for by any ordinary circumstances, and officers and soldiers had been at a loss to understand it. However, to take precautions were wise, and every preparation was made as if against an immediate attack. The drums were beaten; the ramparts were manned; the guns were primed, and such of the townspeople as were not too timid to bear arms were assembled under their militia officers. The watchers on the west wall of the fort were soon aware of the approach of the buccaneers. Indeed, they made no concealment whatever about their motions. Who they were and what they were the garrison had not discovered and could not imagine. A prompt and well-aimed volley, however, as soon as the buccaneers came within range apprised them that they were dealing with enemies, and determined enemies at that. Under cover of the confusion caused by this unexpected discharge, Morgan deployed his men. "Lads," he said, "we'll board yon fort with a rush and a cheer. The ladders will be placed on the walls, and under cover of a heavy fire from our musketry we'll go over them. Use only the cutlass when you gain the parapet and ply like men. Remember what's on the other side!" "Ay, but who'll plant the ladders?" asked one. "The priests and women," said Morgan grimly. "I saved them for that." A roar of laughter and cheers broke from the ruffianly gang as they appreciated the neatness of the old buccaneer's scheme. "'Tis an old trick," he continued; "we did the same thing thirty years since at Porto Bello. Eh, Hornigold? How's that leg of yours?" "Stiff and sore." "Bide here then with the musketeers. Teach, you shall take the walls under the cliff yonder. L'Ollonois, lead your men straight at the fort. De Lussan, let the curtain between be your point. I shall be with the first to get over. Now, charge your pieces all, and Hornigold, after we have started, by slow and careful fire do you keep the Spaniards down until you hear us cheer. After that, hold your fire." "But I should like to be in the first rank myself, master," growled the old boatswain. "Ha, ha!" laughed Morgan, "that's a right spirit, lad, but that cut leg holds you back, for which you have to thank this gentleman," bowing toward Alvarado with a hideous countenance. "You can be of service here. Watch the musketeers. We would have no firing into our backs. Now bring up the women and priests. And, Hornigold, watch Señorita de Lara. See that she does not escape. On your life, man; I'd rather hold her safe," he muttered under his breath, "than take the whole city of Caracas." With shouts of fiendish glee the buccaneers drove the hapless nuns and priests, who had been dragged along in the rear, to the front. The Spaniards were firing at them now, but with no effect so far. The distance was great and the moonlight made aim uncertain, and every time a head showed itself over the battlement it became a target for the fire of the musketeers, who, by Hornigold's orders, ran forward under the black shadow cast by the high cliff, where they could not be seen, and from this point of concealment, taking deliberate aim, made havoc among the defenders. "Now, good fathers and sisters," began Morgan, "you have doubtless been curious to know why you were not put to death. I saved you--not because I loved you, but because I needed you. I had a purpose in view; that purpose is now apparent." "What would you with us, señor?" asked Sister Maria Christina, the abbess, stepping out in front of her sisters. "A little service, my sister. Bring up the ladders, men. See, there are seven all told. That will be four ladies apiece to four ladders; and here are seven priests, which allows two to each of the three remaining ladders, with one priest and one sister over for good measure, and to take the place of any that may be struck down." "And what are we to do with them, señor?" asked Fra Antonio de Las Casas, drawing nearer to the captain. "You are to carry them to yonder wall and place them against it." "You do not mean," burst out Alvarado painfully, for he could scarcely speak from his wounded cheek, "to make these holy women bear the brunt of that fire from the fort, and the good priests as well?" "Do I value the lives of women and priests, accursed Spaniard, more than our own?" questioned the captain, and the congenial sentiment was received by a yell of approval from the men. "But if you are tender-hearted, I'll give the defenders a chance. Will you advise them to yield and thus spare these women?" "I can not do that," answered Alvarado sadly. "'Tis their duty to defend the town. There are twenty women here, there are five hundred there." "D'ye hear that, mates?" cried Morgan. "Up with the ladders!" "But what if we refuse?" cried the abbess. "You shall be given over to the men," answered Morgan, ferociously, "whereas, if you do as I order, you may go free; those who are left alive after the storm. Do ye hear, men? We'll let them go after they have served us," continued the chief turning to his men. "Swear that you will let them go! There are others in La Guayra." "We swear, we swear!" shouted one after another, lifting their hands and brandishing their weapons. "You hear!" cried Morgan. "Pick up the ladders!" "For God's sake, sir----" began Maria Christina. "I know no God," interrupted Morgan. "You had a mother--a wife once--perhaps children, Señor Capitan. Unsay your words! We can not place the ladders which will give you access to yonder helpless town." "Then to the men you go!" cried Morgan ruthlessly. "Forward here, two or three of you, take this woman! She chooses----" "Death----" cried the abbess, snatching a dagger from the nearest hand and driving it into her breast, "rather than dishonor!" She held herself proudly erect for a moment, swayed back and forth, and then fell prostrate upon the sand, the blood staining her white robe about the hilt of the poniard. She writhed and shuddered in agony where she lay, striving to say something. Fra Antonio sprang to her side, and before any one could interfere knelt down. "I--I--I have sinned," she gasped. "Mercy, mercy!" "Thou hast done well, I absolve thee!" cried the priest, making the sign of the cross upon her forehead. "Death and fury!" shouted Morgan, livid with rage. "Let her die unshriven! Shall I be balked thus?" He sprang toward the old man stooping over the woman, and struck him across his shaven crown with the blade of his sword. The priest pitched down instantly upon the body of the abbess, a long shudder running through him. Then he lay still. "Harry Morgan's way!" cried the buccaneer, recovering his blade. "And you?" turning toward the other women. "Have you had lesson enough? Pick up those ladders, or by hell----" "Mercy, mercy!" screamed the frightened nuns. "Not another word! Drive them forward, men!" The buccaneers sprang at the terrified women and priests, some with weapons out, others with leers and outstretched arms. First one and then another gave way. The only leadership among the sisters and priests lay upon the sand there. What could they do? They picked up the ladders and, urged forward by threats and shouts of the buccaneers under cover of a furious discharge from Hornigold's musketeers, they ran to the walls imploring the Spaniards not to fire upon them. When the Spanish commander perceived who were approaching, with a mistaken impulse of mercy he ordered his men to fire over their heads, and so did little danger to the approaching buccaneers. A few of them fell, but the rest dashed into the smoke. There was no time for another discharge. The ladders were placed against the walls, and priests and nuns were ruthlessly cast aside and trampled down. In a little space the marauders were upon the ramparts fighting like demons. Morgan, covered by Black Dog, with Teach, de Lussan, and L'Ollonois, was in the lead. Truth to tell, the captain was never backward when fighting was going on. The desperate onslaught of their overwhelming numbers, once they had gained a foothold, swept the defenders before them like chaff. Waiting for nothing, they sprang down from the fort and raced madly through the narrow streets of the town. They brushed opposition away as leaves are driven aside by a winter storm. Ere the defenders on the east forts could realize their presence, they were upon them, also. In half an hour every man bearing a weapon had been cut down. The town was at the mercy of this horde of human tigers. They broke open wine cellars; they pillaged the provision shops; they tortured without mercy the merchants and inhabitants to force them to discover their treasures, and they insulted and outraged the helpless women. They were completely beyond control now; drunk with slaughter, intoxicated with liquor, mad with lust, they ravaged and plundered. To add to the confusion, fire burst forth here and there, and before the morning dawned half of the city was in ashes. The pale moon looked down upon a scene of horror such as it had never before shone upon, even in the palmiest days of the buccaneers. CHAPTER XVI IN WHICH BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD RECOGNIZES A CROSS, AND CAPTAIN ALVARADO FINDS AND LOSES A MOTHER ON THE STRAND The musketeers under Hornigold, chosen for their mastery with the weapon, had played their parts with cunning skill. [Illustration] Concealed from observation by the deep shadow of the cliffs, and therefore immune from the enemy's fire, they had made targets of the Spaniards on the walls, and by a close, rapid, and well-directed discharge, had kept down the return of the garrison until the very moment of the assault. Hornigold was able to keep them in hand for a little space after the capture of the town, but the thought of the pleasure being enjoyed by their comrades was too much for them. Anxious to take a hand in the hideous fray, they stole away one by one, slinking under the cliff until they were beyond the reach of the boatswain, then boldly rushing for the town in the open, until the old sailor was left with only a half-dozen of the most dependable surrounding himself and prisoners. The rest would not have got away from him so easily had he not been so intensely occupied that at first he had taken little note of what was going on. Mercedes and Alvarado had only opportunity to exchange a word now and then, for extended conversation was prevented by the guards. Alvarado strove to cheer the woman he loved, and she promised him she would choose instant death rather than dishonor. He could give her little encouragement of rescue, for unless word of their plight were carried to the Viceroy immediately, he would be far on the way to the Orinoco country before any tidings could reach him, and by the time he returned it would be too late. Again and again Alvarado strove to break his bonds, in impotent and helpless fury, but this time he was securely bound and his captors only laughed at his struggles. In the midst of their grief and despair they both took notice of the poor abbess. Fra Antonio had not moved since Morgan had stricken him down, but there was life still in the woman, for, from where they stood, some distance back, the two lovers each marked her convulsive trembling. The sight appealed profoundly to them in spite of their perilous situation. "The brave sister lives," whispered Mercedes. "'Tis so," answered Alvarado. "Señor," he called, "the sister yonder is alive. Wilt not allow us to minister to her?" "Nay," said Hornigold brusquely, "I will go myself. Back, all of ye!" he added. "She may wish to confess to me in default of the worthy father." He leered hideously as he spoke. "Coward!" cried Alvarado, but his words affected Hornigold not at all. Before he could say another word the guards forced him rudely back with the two women. The worthy Señora Agapida by this time was in a state of complete and total collapse, but Mercedes bore herself--her lover marked with pleasure--as proudly and as resolutely as if she still stood within her father's palace surrounded by men who loved her and who would die for her. Rolling the body of the prostrate old man aside, Hornigold knelt down on the white sand by the form of the sister. The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye. A sudden flash of recognition came to him. With a muttered oath of surprise he looked again. "It can't be!" he exclaimed, "and yet----" After Fra Antonio's brave attempt at absolution, the woman had fainted. Now she opened her eyes, although she was not yet fully conscious. "Water!" she gasped feebly, and as it chanced the boatswain had a small bottle of the precious fluid hanging from a strap over his shoulder. There was no pity in the heart of the pirate, he would have allowed the woman to die gasping for water without giving her a second thought, but when he recognized her--or thought he did--there instantly sprang into his mind a desire to make sure. If she were the person he thought her she might have information of value. Unslinging the bottle and pulling out the cork, he placed it to her lips. "I--die," she murmured in a stronger voice. "A priest." "There is none here," answered the boatswain. "Fra Antonio--he absolved you." "Where is he?" "Dead, yonder." "But I must confess." "Confess to me," chuckled the old man in ghastly mockery. "Many a woman has done so and----" "Art in Holy Orders, señor?" muttered the woman. [Illustration: The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped over he scanned it with his one eye.] "Holy enough for you. Say on." "Fra Antonio, now," she continued, vacantly lapsing into semi-delirium, "he married us--'twas a secret--his rank was so great. He was rich, I poor--humble. The marriage lines--in the cross. There was a--What's that? A shot? The buccaneers. They are coming! Go not, Francisco!" Hornigold, bending an attentive ear to these broken sentences lost not a word. "Go not," she whispered, striving to lift an arm, "they will kill thee! Thou shalt not leave me alone, my Francisco--The boy--in Panama----" It was evident to the sailor that the poor woman's mind had gone back to the dreadful days of the sack of Panama. He was right then, it was she. "The boy--save him, save him!" she cried suddenly with astonishing vigor. The sound of her own voice seemed to recall her to herself. She stopped, her eyes lost their wild glare and fixed themselves upon the man above her, his own face in the shadow as hers was in the light. "Is it Panama?" she asked. "Those screams--the shots--" She turned her head toward the city. "The flames--is it Panama?" "Nay," answered the one-eyed fiercely. "'Tis twenty-five years since then, and more. Yonder city is La Guayra. This is the coast of Venezuela." "Oh--the doomed town--I remember--now--I stabbed myself rather than--place the ladders. Who art thou, señor?" "Benjamin Hornigold!" cried the man fiercely, bending his face to hers. For a second the woman stared at him. Then, recognizing him, she screamed horribly, raising herself upon her arm. "Hornigold!" she cried. "What have you done with the child?" "I left him at Cuchillo, outside the walls," answered the man. "And the cross?" "On his breast. The Captain----" "The marriage lines were there. You betrayed me. May God's curse--nay, I die. For Christ's sake--I forgive--Francisco, Francisco." She fell back gasping on the sand. He tore the enclosing coif from her face. In a vain effort to hold back death's hand for another second, Hornigold snatched a spirit flask from his belt and strove to force a drop between her lips. It was too late. She was gone. He knew the signs too well. He laid her back on the sand, exclaiming: "Curse her! Why couldn't she have lived a moment longer? The Captain's brat--and she might have told me. Bring up the prisoners!" he cried to the guards, who had moved them out of earshot of this strange conversation. "The cross," he muttered, "the marriage lines therein. The only clew. And yet she cried 'Francisco.' That was the name. Who is he? If I could find that cross. I'd know it among a thousand. Hither," he called to the prisoners slowly approaching. "The good sister?" queried Alvarado. "Dead." As the young soldier, with an ejaculation of pity, bent forward in the moonlight to look upon the face of the dead woman, from his torn doublet a silver crucifix suddenly swung before the eyes of the old buccaneer. "By heaven!" he cried. "'Tis the cross." He stepped nearer to Alvarado, seized the carven crucifix, and lifted it to the light. "I could swear it was the same," he muttered. "Señor, your name and rank?" "I can not conceive that either concerns a bloodthirsty ruffian like----" "Stop! Perhaps there is more in this than thou thinkest," said Mercedes. "Tell him, Alvarado. It can do no harm. Oh, señor, have pity on us! Unbind me," she added, "I give you my word. I wish but to pay my respect to the woman yonder." "She gives good counsel, soldier," answered the boatswain. "Cut her lashing," he said to the sailor who guarded them. As the buccaneer did so, Mercedes sank on her knees by the side of the dead woman. "Now, sir, your name?" asked Hornigold again. "Alvarado." "Where got you that name?" "It was given me by His Excellency, the Viceroy." "And wherefore?" There was something so tremendous in Hornigold's interest that in spite of himself the young man felt compelled to answer. "It was his pleasure." "Had you not a name of your own?" "None that I know of." "What mean you?" "I was found, a baby, outside the walls of Panama in a little village. The Viceroy adopted me and brought me up. That is all." "When was this?" asked Hornigold. "After the sack of Panama. And the name of the village was----" "Cuchillo----" interrupted Hornigold triumphantly. "My God, señor, how know you that?" "I was there." "You were there?" cried the young man. "Ay." "For love of heaven, can you tell me who I am, what I am?" "In good time, young sir, and for a price. At present I know but one thing." "That is----" "There lies your mother," answered the buccaneer slowly, pointing to the white figure on the sand. "My mother! Madre de Dios!" cried Alvarado, stepping forward and looking down upon the upturned face with its closely cut white hair, showing beautiful in the moonlight. "God rest her soul, she hath a lovely face and died in defence of her honor like the gentlewoman she should be. My mother--how know you this?" "In the sack of Panama a woman gave me a male child, and for money I agreed to take it and leave it in a safe and secluded spot outside the city walls. I carried it at the hazard of my life as far as Cuchillo and there left it." "But how know you that the child you left is I?" "Around the baby's neck the mother, ere she gave him to me, placed this curious cross you wear. 'Tis of such cunning workmanship that there is naught like it under the sun that ever I have seen. I knew it even in the faint light when my eyes fell upon it. I left the child with a peasant woman to take him where I had been directed. I believed him safe. On leaving Panama that village lay in our backward path. We burned it down. I saw the baby again. Because I had been well paid I saved him from instant death at the hands of the buccaneers, who would have tossed him in the air on the point of their spears. I shoved the crucifix, which would have tempted them because it was silver, underneath the dress and left the child. He was alive when we departed." "And the day after," cried Alvarado, "de Lara's troops came through that village and found me still wearing that cross. My mother! Loving God, can it be? But my father----" "What shall I have if I tell you?" "Riches, wealth, all--Set us free and----" "Not now. I can not now. Wait." "At least, Donna Mercedes." "Man, 'twould be my life that would pay; but I'll keep careful watch over her. I have yet some influence with the Captain. To-morrow I'll find a way to free you--you must do the rest." "Mercedes," said Alvarado, "heardst thou all?" "But little," answered the girl. "That lady--is believed to have been my mother!" "Gentle or simple," said the girl, "she died in defence of her honor, like the noblest, the best. This for thee, good sister," she whispered, bending down and kissing the pale forehead. "And may I do the like when my time comes. Thou shouldst be proud of her, my Alvarado," she said, looking up at him. "See!" she cried suddenly as the resemblance, which was indeed strong between them, struck her. "Thou hast her face. Her white hair was once golden like thine. He tells the truth. Oh, sir, for Christ's sake, have pity upon us!" A messenger came staggering toward them across the woods. "Master Hornigold," he cried. "Ay, ay." "We've taken the town. The Captain wants you and your prisoners. You'll find him in the guard room. Oh, ho, there's merry times to-night in La Guayra! All hell's let loose, and we are devils." He laughed boisterously and drunkenly as he spoke and lurched backward over the sands. "We must be gone," said Hornigold. "Rise, mistress. Come, sir." "But this lady," urged Alvarado--his lips could scarcely form the unfamiliar word "mother"--"and the good priest? You will not leave them here?" "The rising tide will bear them out to sea." "A moment--by your leave," said Alvarado, stepping toward the dead. Assisted by Mercedes, for he was still bound, he stooped down and touched his lips to those of the dead woman, whispering a prayer as he did so. Rising to his feet he cried: "But my father--who is he--who was he?" "We shall find that out." "But his name?" "I'm not sure, I can not tell now," answered Hornigold evasively; "but with this clew the rest should be easy. Trust me, and when we can discuss this matter undisturbed----" "But I would know now!" "You forget, young sir, that you are a prisoner, and must suit your will to my pleasure. Forward!" But the soul of the old buccaneer was filled with fierce joy. He thought he knew the secret of the crucifix now. The Spanish captain's mother lay dead upon the sands, but his father lived. He was sure of it. He would free Alvarado and bring him down upon Morgan. He chuckled with fiendish delight as he limped along. He had his revenge now; it lay in the hollow of his hand, and 'twas a rare one indeed. Mercedes being bound again, the little party marched across the beach and the bodies of the priest and the nun were left alone while the night tide came rippling up the strand. Scarcely had the party disappeared within the gate of the fort when the priest slowly and painfully lifted himself on his hands and crawled toward the woman. While the buccaneer had talked with the abbess he had returned to consciousness and had listened. Bit by bit he gathered the details of her story, and in truth he knew it of old. By turning his head he had seen the crucifix on the young man's breast and he also had recognized it. He lay still and silent, however, feigning death, for to have discovered himself would have resulted in his instant despatch. When they had gone he painfully crawled over to the body of the poor nun. "Isabella," he murmured, giving her her birth name, "thou didst suffer. Thou tookest thine own life, but the loving God will forgive thee. I am glad that I had strength and courage to absolve thee before I fell. And I did not know thee. 'Tis so many years since. Thy son, that brave young captain--I will see thee righted. I wonder----" He moved nearer to her, scrutinizing her carefully, and then, with an apology even to the dead, the old man opened the front of her gown. "Ay, ay, I thought so," he said, as his eye caught a glimpse of a gold chain against her white neck. Gently he lifted it, unclasped it, drew it forth. There was a locket upon it. Jewels sparkled upon its surface. She had worn it all these years. "_O, vanitas vanitatum!_" murmured the priest, yet compassionately. "What is it that passes the love of woman?" He slipped it quietly within the breast of his habit and then fell prostrate on the sand, faint from pain and loss of blood. Long the two figures lay there in the moonlight while the rising tide lipped the shining sands. The cool water at last restored consciousness to one of the still forms, but though they laved the beautiful face of the other with tender caresses they could not call back the troubled life that had passed into peaceful eternity. Painfully the old priest raised himself upon his hands and looked about him. "O God!" he murmured, "give me strength to live until I can tell the story. Sister Maria Christina--Isabella that was--thou were brave and thou wert beautiful; thou hast served our Holy Church long and well. If I could only lay thee in some consecrated ground--but soul like to thine makes holy e'en the sea which shall bear thee away. Shriven thou wert, buried thou shalt be." The man struggled to his knees, clasped his hands before him, and began the burial service of his ancient Church. "We therefore commit her body into the great deep," he said, "looking for the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come----" The water was washing around him ere he finished his mournful task, and with one long look of benison and farewell he rose to his feet and staggered along the road down the beach. Slowly he went, but presently he reached the turn where began the ascent of the mountain. Before he proceeded he halted and looked long toward the flaming, shrieking, ruined town. The flooding tide was in now and the breakers were beating and thundering far across the sands. The body of the abbess was gone. The old man drew himself up, lifted his trembling hands and prayed; he prayed again for the soul of the woman; he prayed for the young man, that he might learn the truth; he prayed for the beautiful damsel who loved him; he prayed for the people, the hapless people of the doomed town, the helpless, outraged women, the bereft mothers, the tortured men, the murdered children, and as he prayed he called down the curse of God upon those who had wrought such ruin. "Slay them, O God! Strike and spare not! Cut them off root and branch who have despoiled thy people Israel. They have taken the sword and may they perish by it as was promised of old!" A gray, grim, gaunt figure, bloodstained, pale, he stood there in that ghastly light, invoking the judgment of God upon Morgan and his men ere he turned away and was lost in the darkness of the mountain. CHAPTER XVII WHICH DESCRIBES AN AUDIENCE WITH SIR HENRY MORGAN AND THE TREACHERY BY WHICH CAPTAIN ALVARADO IS BENEFITED [Illustration] The clock on the wall was striking eleven as Hornigold forced his prisoners into the guardroom of the first fort that had been captured, which, as it was the larger of the two, Morgan had selected as his head quarters. Mercedes' soul had turned to stone at the sights and sounds which met her as she passed through the town where the hellish revelry was now in full blast. The things she witnessed and heard were enough to appall the stoutest heart that ever beat within the rudest breast. She forgot her own danger in her sympathy for the suffering inhabitants of the devoted town. Ghastly pale and sick with horror, she tottered and staggered as she entered the room. As for the Señora Agapida, she had collapsed long since, and for the last one hundred yards of the journey had been dragged helplessly along by two of her captors, who threw her in a senseless heap on the stone flagging of the great vaulted chamber. The agony and suffering, the torture and death, the shame and dishonor of his people affected Alvarado differently. His soul flamed within his breast with pity for the one, rage for the other. He lusted and thirsted to break away and single-handed rush upon the human wolves and tigers, who were despoiling women, torturing men, murdering children, as if they had been devils. The desire mastered him, and he writhed and struggled in his bonds, but unavailingly. It was a haggard, distracted pair, therefore, which was brought before the chief buccaneer. Morgan sat at the head of the guardroom, on a platform, a table before him strewn with reckless prodigality with vessels of gold and silver stolen from altar and sideboard indifferently, some piled high with food, others brimming with a variety of liquors, from the rich old wines of Xeres to the fiery native rum. On one side of the captain was a woman. Pale as a ghost, the young and beautiful widow of a slaughtered officer, in her disordered array she shrank terrified beneath his hand. L'Ollonois, Teach and de Lussan were also in the room. By each one cowered another woman prisoner. Teach was roaring out a song, that song of London town, with its rollicking chorus: "Though life now is pleasant and sweet to the sense, We'll be damnably moldy a hundred years hence." The room was full of plunder of one sort and another, and the buccaneers were being served by frightened negro slaves, their footsteps quickened and their obedience enforced by the sight of a dead black in one corner, whom de Lussan had knifed a short time since because he had been slow in coming to his call. The smell of spilled liquor, of burnt powder, and of blood, indescribable and sickening, hung in the close, hot air. Lamps and candles were flaring and spluttering in the room but the greater illumination came through the open casements from the roaring fires of burning houses outside. The temptation to join in the sack of the town had been too much for Hornigold's remaining men, consequently he and those conveying Señora Agapida alone attended the prisoners. These last, after throwing the duenna recklessly upon the floor, hurried out after the rest, leaving the officers and women alone. "Silence!" roared Morgan, as his eye fell upon the group entering the lower end of the great hall. "Pipe down, thou bellowing bull!" he shouted, throwing a silver cup that Cellini might have chased, at the head of the half drunken Teach. "Who's there? Scuttle me, 'tis our spitfire and the gallant captain, with that worthy seaman Hornigold! Advance, friends. Thou art welcome to our cheer. Drive them forward, Hornigold," he cried, as he saw Mercedes and Alvarado made no attempt to move. "Advance quickly," whispered Hornigold to Alvarado; "to cross him now were death." Seizing them with a great show of force he shoved them down the hall to the foot of the platform, in front of the revellers. "I welcome thee to our court, fair lady, and you, brave sir. What say ye, gentles all? Rum for the noble captain, here, and wine for the lady," called out Morgan, bowing over the table in malicious mockery. "I drink with no murderer," said Alvarado firmly, thrusting the negro, who proffered him a glass, violently aside with his shoulder, causing him to topple over, drenching himself with the liquor. "Ha! Is it so?" laughed Morgan in a terrible manner. "Hark'ee, my young cock, thou shalt crave and beg and pray for another drink at my hand presently--and get it not. But there is another cup thou shalt drink, ay, and that to the dregs. Back, you! I would speak with the lady. Well, Donna Mercedes," he continued, "art still in that prideful mood?" Silence. The girl stood erect, disdainfully looking him full in the face. "I shall break thee yet, proud wench!" he shouted. "Perhaps the demoiselle is jealous of thy present companion, Sir Captain," sneered de Lussan smoothly in his courtliest manner. "Scuttle me! That's well thought on," laughed Morgan. "And I'll add fuel to the fire." As he spoke he clasped the terrified woman on his right around the waist, and though she struggled and drew away from him in horror and disgust, he kissed her full upon the lips. The woman shuddered loathingly when he released her, put her face down in her hands and sobbed low and bitterly. "What sayest thou to that, sweet Mercedes?" "I say may God have mercy on the soul of yon poor woman," answered Mercedes disdainfully. "Best pray for thine own soul, madam," he roared. "Come hither! What, you move not? Black Dog, Black Dog, I say!" The huge maroon lurched from behind his master's chair, where he had lain half-drunken. "Fetch me that woman!" Mercedes was bound and could not at first release her hands, but as the maroon shambled toward her she sprang back struggling. "Alvarado, Alvarado!" she screamed. "Help me, save me!" Like a maddened bull, though his hands were bound also, Alvarado threw himself upon the negro. The force with which he struck him hurled him backward and the two fell to the floor, the maroon beneath. His head struck a corner of the step with a force that would have killed a white man. In an instant, however, the unbound negro was on his feet. He whipped out his dagger and would have plunged it into the breast of the prostrate Spaniard had not Mercedes, lightly bound, for being a woman they thought it not necessary to be unusually severe in her lashings, wrenched free her hands and caught the half-breed's upraised arm. "Mercy!" she screamed, while struggling to divert the blow, looking toward Morgan. "Hold your hand, Black Dog," answered that worthy. "Leave the man and come hither. This is thy first appeal, lady. You know my power at last, eh? Down on your knees and beg for his life!" Instantly Mercedes sank to her knees and stretched out her hands, a piteous, appealing, lovely figure. "Spare him, spare him!" she cried. "What would you do for him?" "My life for his," she answered bravely. "Nay, Mercedes," interposed Alvarado, "let him work his will on me." "There are worse places, thou seest, lady, than by my side," sneered Morgan. "By heaven, 'twas a pretty play, was it not, mates? I spare him, but remember, 'tis for you. Harry Morgan's way. Now reward me. Hither, I say! Go, you woman!" he struck the woman he had kissed a fierce blow with his naked fist--"Away from me! Your place is needed for your betters. Here lady----" "Captain Morgan," cried Hornigold, suddenly interrupting him. "I bethink me you should send men to seize the mountain pass that leads to Caracas at once, else we may have troops upon us in the morning." It was a bold diversion and yet it succeeded. There could be no safe feasting in La Guayra with that open road. Morgan had overlooked it, but the boatswain's words recalled it to him; for the moment he forgot the prisoners and the women. Safety was a paramount consideration. "I forgot it," he answered. "Curse me, how can I? The villains are too drunk with rum and blood and fury to be despatched." "A force must be assembled at once," urged Hornigold, insistently, "lest some have escaped who would bring word to the Viceroy. He would be upon us in a day with an army too great for resistance. If you intend not to rot here in La Guayra, or be caught in a death trap, we must be up to the mountain top beforehand. Once they seize the pass, we are helpless." "That's well said, Hornigold," cried Morgan, who was not so drunk that he could not realize the practical value of Hornigold's suggestion and the great danger of disregarding his advice. "The pass must be seized at all hazard. With that in our possession we may bide our time. I thought to wait until to-morrow, but you're right. We've feasted and drunk enough for the night. To-morrow Donna de Lara! Guards for the pass now--But how to get them?" He rose to his feet as he spoke and came down the hall. "Teach and L'Ollonois, follow me!" he cried. "Gather up fifty of the soberest men and lead them up the mountain road till you reach the pass, and then hold it till I come. Nay, no hesitation," he roared. "Canst not see the necessity? Unless we are masters of that pass we are caught like rats in a trap here in La Guayra. To-morrow or the next day we shall march up toward Caracas. Your share of the treasure and your women shall be held safe. You shall have first consideration on the other side of the mountains. Nay, I will have it so!" He stamped his foot in furious rage. "We've all had too much drink already," he continued, "now we must make things secure. Hornigold, take charge of this fort. I leave the prisoners with you. Guard them well. Treat the lady well also. Do what you like with the other, only keep him alive. One of you send Braziliano to me. He shall have the other fort. And you and I, Monsieur de Lussan, will take account of the men here in the town and bring them into such order as we can." Although Teach and L'Ollonois had no mind to leave the pleasures open to them in La Guayra, yet they were both men of intelligence and could easily see the absolute necessity for the precaution suggested by Hornigold and accepted by their captain. If they held the passage over the mountains, and fifty men could hold it against a thousand, no Spaniard could come at them. So the little group, leaving the wretched women, the two prisoners, and Hornigold, sallied out into the infernal night. It was a difficult thing for them to find a sufficient number of sober pirates, but by persuading, threatening, and compelling they at last gathered a force of the least drunken knaves, with which they set forth on the road. The fires which had been wantonly kindled in different places by the buccaneers were making such headway that Morgan instantly saw that especial efforts would be needed to prevent the complete destruction of the town. He wanted La Guayra for his base of supplies for the present, and with tremendous energy, seconded by de Lussan and some of the soberer men, he routed out the buccaneers and set them to work. "You have saved me for the moment," said Mercedes, gratefully, turning to Hornigold as he led her away from the hall. "'Twas not for care of you," hissed out the old man, malevolently, "but that I'd fain balk him in every desire he cherishes, even of possessing you." "Whatever it was, I am thankful, señor. You have my prayers----" "Prayers," laughed the old sailor, "it hath been sixty years since I heard those canting Puritans, my mother and father, pray. I want no prayers. But come, I must put you in ward. There should be strong-rooms in this castle." He summoned a slave and found what he wanted. Mercedes, and Señora Agapida, who was fetched by other slaves, were locked in one room, Alvarado was thrust into another. As soon as he could do so, after making some provision for the comfort of the woman, Hornigold came down to him. "Señor," he said, "the band is drunk and helpless. One hundred resolute men could master them. Morgan means to march to Caracas to-morrow. He can not get his men in shape to do so as long as liquor flows in La Guayra. If I set you free, what can you do?" "There is a way over the mountains," answered Alvarado. "A secret way, known only to the Indians." "Know you this path?" "It has been pointed out to me." "Is it a practicable way?" "It has been abandoned for fifty years, but I could follow it to Caracas." "And once there, what then?" "There, if the Viceroy be not gone, and I do not believe he has yet departed, are one thousand soldiers to re-take the city." "And if they be gone?" "I'll raise the citizens, the household guards, the savages, and the slaves!" "Can you do it?" "Free me and see," answered Alvarado, with such resolution that he convinced the sailor. "The men of Caracas love the daughter of the Viceroy. They are not inexperienced in arms. I will lead them. The advantage of numbers will be with us. If you free me, I take it we will have a friend within the walls. Success is certain. We have too much to revenge," he added, his face flushing with rage at the thought of it all. "That's well," answered Hornigold. "If I free you what reward shall I have?" "I will cover you with treasure." "And guarantee my life and liberty?" "They shall be held inviolate." "We captured the Porto Bello plate ship, and were wrecked two days ago a league or so to the westward----" "I saw the ship the day of the storm, but marked it not," interrupted the officer. "Ay. We buried the treasure. Shall I have my share?" "All that thou canst take, if the honor of the lady be preserved. I answer for the Viceroy." "Will you swear it?" "Yes." "By your mother's cross?" "By my mother's cross, I swear. I will keep my faith with you, so help me God!" "I believe in no God, but you do, and that suffices. You shall go," cried the buccaneer, all his objections satisfied. "But as you love the woman, lose no time. I'll be at the west gate under the rocks at ten o'clock to-morrow night. You know it?" "Yes, go on." "I'll open the gate for you and leave the rest to you. You must be there with your force. Now, go." "I shall be there. But I can not leave without Donna Mercedes." "And you can't go with her. Think! Could she make her way over the mountains?" "No, no, but----" "I'll watch over her with my life," urged the One-Eyed. "My share of the treasure depends upon her safety, you said." "But Morgan----" "I hate him with a hatred greater than thine." "He is thy captain." "He betrayed me, and I swore to take such vengeance as was never heard before, to make him suffer such torments by my hand as were never felt outside of hell." "You would betray him?" "It was for that I came with him! for that I live. He craves and covets the Donna Mercedes. He shall not have her. Trust me to interpose at the last moment." "Is this true? Can I believe you?" "Else why should I jeopard my life by freeing you? I hate him, I tell you. Remember! The west gate! There are not three hundred men here. The best fifty have gone with Teach and L'Ollonois, the rest are drunken and cowards. Here are weapons. Wrap yourself in this cloak, and come. Say no word to any one on the way. By Satan, as you love the wench, lose no time!" As he spoke, the old man cut the bonds of Alvarado, belted upon him dagger and sword, thrust a charged pistol in his hand, covered his head with a steel cap, and threw a long cloak around him. The two then went forth into the night. Avoiding the notice of others, they hastened along the deserted parapet, for there were none to keep watch or guard, until they came to one of the ladders by which the buccaneers had entered the town. Down it Alvarado, first swearing again on the cross, on his honor, to respect his agreement with Hornigold and again receiving the man's assurance, dropped hastily to the ground. There was no one to look, and he dashed recklessly across the narrow strip of sand to the shadow of the cliffs, along which he ran until he came opposite the place of his mother's death. The white water was rolling and crashing on the beach, and the body was gone. With a hasty petition for the repose of her soul, he ran on until he reached the turn of the road. There, like the priest, he made another prayer, and it was a prayer not different from that which had been voiced so short a time before. But his petitions were soon over. It was a time for work, not prayer. No moment could be lost. He girded up his loins and turned away on the run. Unlike the priest, however, he did not pursue the mountain road, but, after going a short distance, he left the way and plunged to the right through the trees directly up the side of the hill. His face was cut and slashed by Morgan's dagger; his soul had been racked and torn by the scenes he had gone through; the plight of Mercedes stirred him to the very depths; his heart yearned over the slaughtered garrison, the ruined town, but with a strength superhuman he plunged at the hill, in spite of the forest, groping about in the darkness with frantic energy until he found the traces of a slender, rocky path which led over the mountains. BOOK V HOW THE SPANIARDS RE-TOOK LA GUAYRA AND HOW CAPTAIN ALVARADO FOUND A NAME AND SOMETHING DEARER STILL IN THE CITY CHAPTER XVIII DISCLOSES THE WAY IN WHICH MERCEDES DE LARA FOUGHT WITH WOMAN'S CUNNING AGAINST CAPTAIN HENRY MORGAN The day after the sack of the town had been a busy one for the buccaneers. First of all, Morgan had striven, and with some success, to restore some sort of order within the walls. By the aid of his officers and some of the soberest men he had confiscated all of the liquor that he could come at, and had stored it under a strong guard in the west fort, which he selected as his headquarters. The Governor's palace on the hill above was a more fitting and luxurious residence and it had been promptly seized, the few defenders having fled, in the morning; but for the present Morgan deemed it best to remain in the city and in close touch with his men. The Spanish soldiery had been cut down to a man the night before, and the majority of the hapless citizens had been killed, wounded or tortured. The unfortunates who were yet alive were driven into the church of San Lorenzo, where they were kept without food, water, or attention. There were some children, also, who had survived the night, for the buccaneers, frenzied with slaughter and inflamed with rum, had tossed many of them on their sword-points when they came across them in the streets. By Morgan's orders the living were collected in the store-house and barracks of the Guinea Trading Company, a corporation which supplied slaves to the South American countries, and which had branches in every city on the Caribbean. He did order food and water to be given these helpless unfortunates, so their condition was not quite so deplorable as that of the rest. It was bad enough, however, and the old barracks which had echoed with the sound of many a bitter cry from the forlorn lips of wretched slaves, now resounded with the wailing of these terrified little ones. The condition of the women of the city was beyond description. They, too, were herded together in another building, an ancient convent, but were plentifully supplied with every necessary they could ask for. Death, in lieu of the fate that had come upon them, would have been welcomed by many a high-born dame and her humbler sister as well, but they were all carefully searched and deprived of everything that might serve as a weapon. They were crowded together indiscriminately, high and low, rich and poor, black or white or red, in all states of disorder and disarray, just as they had been seized the night before, some of them having been dragged from their very beds by the brutal ruffians. Some of the women, maddened to frenzy by the treatment they had received, screamed and raved; but most of them were filled with still misery, overwhelmed by silent despair--waiting hopelessly for they knew not what bitter, degrading end. One night had changed them from happy wives, honored mothers, light-hearted, innocent girls, to wrecks of womanhood. The light of life was dead in them. They were dumb and unprotesting. The worst had come upon them; there was nothing of sorrow and shame they had not tasted. What mattered anything else? Their husbands, fathers, children, lovers had gone. Homes were broken up; their property was wasted, and not even honor was left. They prayed to die. It was all that was left to them. The gates of the town and forts were closed and some slight attempt was made to institute a patrol of the walls, although the guard that was kept was negligent to the point of contempt. As no enemy was apprehended Morgan did not rigorously insist upon strict watch. Many of the buccaneers were still sodden with liquor and could be of no service until they were sobered. They were dragged to the barracks, drenched with water, and left to recover as best they could. Fortune favored them in one other matter, too, in that late in the afternoon a handsome frigate bringing despatches from Carthagena, ran in and anchored in the roadstead. Her officers at once came ashore to pay their respects to the Commandante of the port and forward their papers to the Viceroy. Before they suspected anything, they were seized and ruthlessly murdered. To take possession of the frigate thereafter was a work of no special difficulty. The crew were disposed of as their officers had been, and the buccaneers rejoiced greatly at the good luck that had brought them so fine a ship. On the next morning Morgan intended to march toward Caracas, whence, after plundering that town and exacting a huge ransom for the lives of those he spared, he would lead his band back to La Guayra, embark on the frigate, and then bear away for the Isthmus. During the day, Hornigold, whose wound incapacitated him from active movement, remained in command of the fort with special instructions to look after Mercedes. By Morgan's orders she and her companion were removed to the best room in the fort and luxuriously provided for. He had not discovered the escape of Alvarado, partly because he took no manner of interest in that young man and only kept him alive to influence the girl, and partly because Hornigold had assured him that the prisoner was taking his confinement very hardly, that he was mad with anger, in a raging fever of disappointment and anxiety, and was constantly begging to see the captain. The boatswain cunningly suggested that it would be just as well to let Alvarado remain in solitude, without food or water until the next day, by which time, the boatswain argued, he would be reduced to a proper condition of humility and servitude. Morgan found this advice good. It was quite in consonance with his desires and his practices. He would have killed Alvarado out of hand had he not considered him the most favorable card with which to play the game he was waging with Mercedes for her consent to marry him. So far as he was capable of a genuine affection, he loved the proud Spanish maiden. He would fain persuade her willingly to come to his arms rather than enforce her consent or overcome her scruples by brute strength. There would be something of a triumph in winning her, and this vain, bloodstained old brute fancied that he had sufficient attractiveness for the opposite sex to render him invincible if he set about his wooing in the right way. He thought he knew the way, too. At any rate he was disposed to try it. Here again Hornigold, upon whom in the absence of Teach he depended more and more, and in whom he confided as of old, advised him. "I know women," said that worthy, and indeed no man had more knowledge of the class which stood for women in his mind than he, "and all you want is to give her time. Wait until she knows what's happened to the rest of them, and sees only you have power to protect her, and she will come to heel right enough. Besides, you haven't given her half a chance. She's only seen you weapon in hand. She doesn't know what a man you are, Captain. Sink me, if I'd your looks instead of this old, scarred, one-eyed face, there'd be no man I'd give way to and no woman I'd not win! Steer her along gently with an easy helm. Don't jam her up into the wind all of a sudden. Women have to be coaxed. Leave the girl alone a watch. Don't go near her; let her think what she pleases. Don't let anybody go near her unless it's me, and she won't get anything out of me, you can depend upon that! She'll be so anxious to talk to you in the morning that you can make her do anything. Then if you can starve that Spanish dog and break his spirit, so that she'll see him crawling at your feet, she'll sicken of him and turn to a man." "Scuttle me," laughed Morgan, "your advice is good! I didn't know you knew so much about the sex." "I've mixed up considerable with them in sixty years, Captain," leered the old man. "What I don't know about them ain't worth knowing." "It seems so. Well, I'll stay away from her till the morning. I shall be busy anyway trying to straighten out these drunken sots, and do you put the screws on that captain and leave the lady alone--but see that she lacks nothing." "Ay, ay, trust me for them both." Hornigold found means during the day--and it was a matter of no little difficulty to elude the guards he himself had placed there--to inform Mercedes of the escape of Alvarado, and to advise her that he expected the return of that young man with the troops of the Viceroy at ten o'clock that night. He bade her be of good cheer, that he did not think it likely that Morgan would think of calling upon her or of sending for her until morning, when it would be too late. He promised that he would watch over her and do what he could to protect her; that he would never leave the fort except for a few moments before ten that night, when he went to admit Alvarado. What was better earnest of his purpose was that he furnished her with a keen dagger, small enough to conceal in the bosom of her dress, and advised her if worst came to worst, and there was no other way, to use it. He impressed on her that on no account was she to allow Morgan to get the slightest inkling of his communication to her, for if the chief buccaneer found this out Hornigold's life would not be worth a moment's thought, and Alvarado would be balked in his plans of rescue. Mercedes most thankfully received the weapon and promised to respect the confidence. She was grateful beyond measure, and he found it necessary harshly to admonish her that he only assisted her because he had promised Alvarado that she should receive no harm, and that his own safety depended upon hers. He did not say so, but under other circumstances he would have as ruthlessly appropriated her for himself as Morgan intended to do, and without the shadow of a scruple. As far as creature comforts were concerned the two women fared well. Indeed, they were sumptuously, lavishly, prodigally provided for. Señora Agapida was still in a state of complete prostration. She lay helpless on a couch in the apartment and ministering to her distracted the poor girl's mind, yet such a day as Mercedes de Lara passed she prayed she might never again experience. The town was filled with the shouts and cries of the buccaneers wandering to and fro, singing drunken choruses, now and again routing out hidden fugitives from places of fancied security and torturing them with ready ingenuity whenever they were taken. The confusion was increased and the noise diversified by the shrieks and groans of these miserable wretches. Sometimes the voices that came through the high windows were those of women, and the sound of their screams made the heart of the brave girl sink like lead in her breast. For the rest, she did not understand Hornigold's position. She did not know whether to believe him or not, but of one thing was she certain. Whereas she had been defenceless now she had a weapon, and she could use it if necessary. With that in hand she was mistress at least of her own fate. As evening drew on, every thing having been attended to, Morgan began to tire of his isolation, and time hung heavy on his hands. He was weary of the women whom he had hitherto consorted with; the other officers, between whom and himself there was no sort of friendship, were busy with their own nefarious wickednesses in the different parts of the fort or town, and he sat a long time alone in the guardroom, drinking, Black Dog, as usual, pouring at his side. The liquor inflamed his imagination and he craved companionship. Summoning Hornigold at last, he bade him bring Donna Mercedes before him. The old man attempted to expostulate, but Morgan's mood had changed and he brooked no hesitation in obeying any order given by him. There was nothing for the boatswain to do but to comply. Once more Mercedes, therefore, found herself in the guardroom of the fort in the presence of the man she loathed and feared above all others in creation. Her situation, however, was vastly different from what it had been. On the first occasion there had appeared no hope. Now Alvarado was free and she had a weapon. She glanced at the clock, a recent importation from Spain hanging upon the wall, as she entered, and saw that it was half-after nine. Ten was the hour Hornigold had appointed to meet Alvarado at the gate. She hoped that he would be early rather than late; and, if she could withstand the buccaneer by persuasion, seeming compliance, or by force, for a short space, all would be well. For she never doubted that her lover would come for her. Even if he had to come single-handed and alone to fight for her, she knew he would be there. Therefore, with every nerve strained almost to the breaking point to ward off his advances and to delay any action he might contemplate, she faced the buccaneer. He was dressed with barbaric magnificence in the riches and plunder he had appropriated, and he had adorned his person with a profusion of silver and gold, and stolen gems. He had been seated at the table while served by the maroon, but, as she entered, with unusual complaisance he arose and bowed to her with something of the grace of a gentleman. "Madam," he said, endeavoring to make soft and agreeable his harsh voice, "I trust you have been well treated since in my charge." He had been drinking heavily she saw, but as he spoke her fair she would answer him accordingly. To treat him well, to temporize, and not to inflame his latent passion by unnecessarily crossing him, would be her best policy, she instantly divined, although she hated and despised him none the less. On his part, he had determined to try the gentler arts of persuasion, and though his face still bore the welts made by her riding whip the night before he strove to forget it and play the gentleman. He had some qualities, as a buccaneer, that might entitle him to a certain respect, but when he essayed the gentleman his performance was so futile that had it not been so terrible it would have been ludicrous. She answered his question calmly without exhibiting resentment or annoyance. "We have been comfortably lodged and provided with food and drink in sufficiency, señor." "And what more would you have, Donna Mercedes?" "Liberty, sir!" "That shall be yours. Saving only my will, when you are married to me, you shall be as free as air. A free sailor and his free wife, lady. But will you not sit down?" In compliance with his request, she seated herself on a chair which happened to be near where she stood; she noted with relief that the table was between them. "Nay, not there," said the Captain instantly. "Here, madam, here, at my side." "Not yet, señor capitan; it were not fit that a prisoner should occupy so high a seat of honor. Wait until----" "Until what, pray?" he cried, leaning forward. "Until that--until I--until we----" In spite of her efforts she could not force her lips to admit the possibility of the realization of his desire. "Until you are Lady Morgan?" he cried, his face flaming. She buried her face in her hands at his suggestion, for she feared her horror in the thought would show too plainly there; and then because she dare not lose sight of him, she constrained herself to look at him once more. Her cheeks were burning with shame, her eyes flashing with indignation, though she forced her lips into the semblance of a smile. "That surprises you, does it?" continued the man with boasting condescension. "You did not think I designed so to honor you after last night, madam? Scuttle me, these"--pointing to his face--"are fierce love taps, but I fancy a strong will--when I can break it to mine own," he muttered, "and I have yet to see that in man or woman that could resist mine." She noted with painful fascination the powerful movements of his lean fingers as he spoke, for his sinewy right hand, wrinkled and hideous, lay stretched out on the table before him, and he clasped and unclasped it unconsciously as he made his threat. "I like you none the less for your spirit, ma'am. 'Fore God, it runs with your beauty. You are silent," he continued, staring at her with red-eyed, drunken suspicion. "You do not answer?" "My lord," cried Mercedes, "I know not what to say." "Say, 'Harry Morgan, I love you and I am yours.'" "There is another present, señor." "Where? Another? Who has dared--" roared the buccaneer glaring about him. "Thy servant--the negro." "Oh," he laughed, "he is nothing. Black Dog, we call him. He is my slave, my shadow, my protection. He is always by." An idea had swiftly flashed into the young girl's mind. If she could get rid of the slave she could deal more easily with the master. She was tall, strong, and Morgan, it appeared, was not in full possession of his faculties or his strength from the liquor he had imbibed. "Still," she urged, "I do not like to be wooed in the presence of another, even though he be a slave. 'Tis not a Spanish maiden's way, sir." "Your will now, lady," said the buccaneer, with a hideous attempt at gallantry, "is my law. Afterwards--'twill be another matter. Out, Carib, but be within call. Now, madam, we are alone. Speak you the English tongue?" The conversation had been carried on in Spanish heretofore. "Indifferently, señor." "Well, I'll teach it you. The lesson may as well begin now. Say after me, 'Harry'--I permit that though I am a belted knight of England, made so by His Merry Majesty, King Charles, God rest him. Drink to the repose of the king!" he cried, shoving a cup across the table toward her. Resisting a powerful temptation to throw it at him, and divining that the stimulant might be of assistance to her in the trying crisis in which she found herself, the girl lifted the cup to her lips, bowed to him, and swallowed a portion of the contents. "Give it back to me!" he shouted. "You have tasted it, I drain it. Now the lesson. Say after me, 'Harry Morgan'----" "Harry Morgan," gasped the girl. "'I love thee.'" With a swift inward prayer she uttered the lying words. "You have learned well, and art an apt pupil indeed," he cried, leering upon her in approbation and lustful desire--- his very gaze was pollution to her. "D'ye know there are few women who can resist me when I try to be agreeable? Harry Morgan's way!" he laughed again. "There be some that I have won and many I have forced. None like you. So you love me? Scuttle me, I thought so. Ben Hornigold was right. Woo a woman, let her be clipped willingly in arms--yet there's a pleasure in breaking in the jades, after all. Still, I'm glad that you are in a better mood and have forgot that cursed Spaniard rotting in the dungeons below, in favor of a better man, Harry--no, I'll say, Sir Henry--Morgan--on this occasion, at your service," he cried, rising again and bowing to her as before. She looked desperately at the clock. The hour was close at hand. So great was the strain under which she was laboring that she felt she could not continue five minutes longer. Would Alvarado never come? Would anybody come? She sat motionless and white as marble, while the chieftain stared at her in the pauses of his monologue. "Now, madam, since you have spoke the words perhaps you will further wipe out the recollection of this caress--" he pointed to his cheek again. "Curse me!" he cried in sudden heat, "you are the only human being that ever struck Harry Morgan on the face and lived to see the mark. I'd thought to wait until to-morrow and fetch some starveling priest to play his mummery, but why do so? We are alone here--together. There is none to disturb us. Black Dog watches. You love me, do you not?" "I--I--" she gasped out, brokenly praying for strength, and fighting for time. "You said it once, that's enough. Come, lady, let's have happiness while we may. Seal the bargain and kiss away the blows." He came around the table and approached her. Notwithstanding the quantity of liquor he had taken he was physically master of himself, she noticed with a sinking heart. As he drew near, she sprang to her feet also and backed away from him, throwing out her left hand to ward him off, at the same time thrusting her right hand into her bosom. "Not now," she cried, finding voice and word in the imminence of the peril. "Oh, for God's sake----" "Tis useless to call on God in Harry Morgan's presence, mistress, for he is the only God that hears. Come and kiss me, thou black beauty--and then--" "To-morrow, for Christ's sake!" cried the girl. "I am a Christian--I must have a priest--not now--to-morrow!" She was backed against the wall and could go no further. "To-night," chuckled the buccaneer. He was right upon her now. She thrust him, unsuspicious and unprepared, violently from her, whipped out the dagger that Hornigold had given her, and faced him boldly. It was ten o'clock and no one had yet appeared. The struck hour reverberated through the empty room. Would Alvarado never come? Had it not been that she hoped for him she would have driven the tiny weapon into her heart at once, but for his sake she would wait a little longer. "Nay, come no nearer!" she cried resolutely. "If you do, you will take a dead woman in your arms. Back, I say!" menacing herself with the point. And the man noted that the hand holding the weapon did not tremble in the least. "Thinkest thou that I could love such a man as thou?" she retorted, trembling with indignation, all the loathing and contempt she had striven to repress finding vent in her voice. "I'd rather be torn limb from limb than feel even the touch of thy polluting hand!" "Death and fury!" shouted Morgan, struggling between rage and mortification, "thou hast lied to me then?" "A thousand times--yes! Had I a whip I'd mark you again. Come within reach and I will drive the weapon home!" She lifted it high in the air and shook it in defiance as she spoke. It was a frightful imprudence, for which she paid dearly, however, for the hangings parted and Carib, who had heard what had gone on, entered the room--indeed, the voices of the man and woman filled with passion fairly rang through the hall. His quick eye took in the situation at once. He carried at his belt a long, heavy knife. Without saying a word, he pulled it out and threw it with a skill born of long practice, which made him a master at the game, fairly at the woman's uplifted hand. Before either Morgan or Mercedes were aware of his presence they heard the whistle of the heavy blade through the air. At the same moment the missile struck the blade of the dagger close to the palm of the woman and dashed it from her hand. Both weapons rebounded from the wall from the violence of the blow and fell at Morgan's feet. Mercedes was helpless. "Well done, Carib!" cried Morgan exultantly. "Never has that old trick of thine served me better. Now, you she-devil--I have you in my power. Didst prefer death to Harry Morgan? Thou shalt have it, and thy lover, too. I'll tear him limb from limb and in thy presence, too, but not until after----" "Oh, God! oh, God!" shrieked Mercedes, flattening herself against the wall, shrinking from him with wide outstretched arms as he approached her. "Mercy!" "I know not that word. Wouldst cozen me? Hast another weapon in thy bodice? I'll look." Before she could prevent him he seized her dress at the collar with both hands and, in spite of her efforts, by a violent wrench tore it open. "No weapon there," he cried. "Ha! That brings at last the color to your pale cheek!" he added, as the rich red crimsoned the ivory of her neck and cheek at this outrage. "Help, help!" she screamed. Her voice rang high through the apartment with indignant and terrified appeal. "Call again," laughed Morgan. "Kill me, kill me!" she begged. "Nay, you must live to love me! Ho! ho!" he answered, taking her in his arms. "Mercy! Help!" she cried in frenzy, all the woman in her in arms against the outrage, though she knew her appeal was vain, when, wonder of wonders---- "I heard a lady's voice," broke upon her ears from the other end of the room. "De Lussan!" roared Morgan, releasing her and turning toward the intruder. "Here's no place for you. How came you here? I'd chosen this room for myself, I wish to be private. Out of it, and thank me for your life!" "I know not why you should have Donna de Lara against her will, and when better men are here," answered the Frenchman, staring with bold, cruel glances at her, beautiful in her disarray, "and if you keep her you must fight for her. Mademoiselle," he continued, baring his sword gracefully and saluting her, "will you have me for your champion?" [Illustration: "Hast another weapon in thy bodice?"] His air was as gallant as if he had been a gentleman and bound in honor to rescue a lady in dire peril of life and honor, instead of another ruffian inflamed by her beauty and desirous to possess her himself. "Save me! Save me," she cried, "from this man!" She did not realize the meaning of de Lussan's words, she only saw a deliverer for the present. It was ten minutes past the hour now. She welcomed any respite; her lover might come at any moment. "I will fight the both of you for her," cried the Frenchman; "you, Black Dog, and you, Master Morgan. Draw, unless you are a coward." "I ought to have you hanged, you mutinous hound!" shouted Morgan, "and hanged you shall be, but not until I have proved myself your master with the sword, as in all other things. Watch the woman, Carib, and keep out of this fray. Lay hand on her at your peril! Remember, she is mine." "Or it may be mine," answered de Lussan, as Morgan dashed at him. They engaged without hesitation and the room was filled with the sound of ringing, grating steel. First pulling the pins from her glorious hair, Mercedes shook it down around her bare shoulders, and then stood, fascinated, watching the fencers. She could make no movement from the wall as the negro stood at her arm. For a space neither of the fighters had any advantage. De Lussan's skill was marvelous, but the chief buccaneer was more than his match. Presently the strength and capacity of the older and more experienced swordsman began to give him a slight advantage. Hard pressed, the Frenchman, still keeping an inexorable guard, slowly retreated up the room. Both men had been so intensely occupied with the fierce play that they had not heard the sound of many feet outside, a sudden tumult in the street. The keen ear of the half-breed, however, detected that something was wrong. "Master," he cried, "some one comes. I hear shouts in the night air. A shot! Shrieks--groans! There! The clash of arms! Lower your weapons, sirs!" he cried again, as Spanish war cries filled the air. "We are betrayed; the enemy is on us!" Instantly Morgan and de Lussan broke away from each other. "To-morrow," cried the buccaneer captain. "As you will," returned the other. But now, Mercedes, staking all upon her hope, lifted her voice, and with tremendous power begot by fear and hope sent ringing through the air that name which to her meant salvation-- "Alvarado! Alvarado!" CHAPTER XIX HOW CAPTAIN ALVARADO CROSSED THE MOUNTAINS, FOUND THE VICEROY, AND PLACED HIS LIFE IN HIS MASTER'S HANDS The highway between La Guayra and Venezuela was exceedingly rough and difficult, and at best barely practicable for the stoutest wagons. The road wound around the mountains for a distance of perhaps twenty-five miles, although as the crow flies it was not more than five miles between the two cities. Between them, however, the tremendous ridge of mountains rose to a height of nearly ten thousand feet. Starting from the very level of the sea, the road crossed the divide through a depression at an altitude of about six thousand feet and descended thence some three thousand feet to the valley in which lay Caracas. This was the road over which Alvarado and Mercedes had come and on the lower end of which they had been captured. It was now barred for the young soldier by the detachment of buccaneers under young Teach and L'Ollonois, who were instructed to hold the pass where the road crossed through, or over, the mountains. Owing to the configuration of the pass, that fifty could hold it against a thousand. It was not probable that news of the sack of La Guayra would reach Caracas before Morgan descended upon it, but to prevent the possibility, or to check any movement of troops toward the shore, it was necessary to hold that road. The man who held it was in position to protect or strike either city at will. It was, in fact, the key to the position. Morgan, of course, counted upon surprising the unfortified capital as he had the seaport town. It was the boast of the Spaniards that they needed no walls about Caracas, since nature had provided them with the mighty rampart of the mountain range, which could not be surmounted save in that one place. With that one place in the buccaneer's possession, Caracas could only rely upon the number and valor of her defenders. To Morgan's onslaught could only be opposed a rampart of blades and hearts. Had there been a state of war in existence it is probable that the Viceroy would have fortified and garrisoned the pass, but under present conditions nothing had been done. As soon as a messenger from Teach informed Morgan that the pass had been occupied and that all seemed quiet in Caracas, a fact which had been learned by some bold scouting on the farther side of the mountain, he was perfectly easy as to the work of the morrow. He would fall upon the unwalled town at night and carry everything by a _coup de main_. Fortunately for the Spaniards in this instance, it happened that there was another way of access to the valley of Caracas from La Guayra. Directly up and over the mountain there ran a narrow and difficult trail, known first to the savages and afterwards to wandering smugglers or masterless outlaws. Originally, and until the Spaniards made the wagon road, it had been the only way of communication between the two towns. But the path was so difficult and so dangerous that it had long since been abandoned, even by the classes which had first discovered and traveled it. These vagabonds had formerly kept it in such a state of repair that it was fairly passable, but no work had been done on it for nearly one hundred years. Indeed, in some places, the way had been designedly obliterated by the Spanish Government about a century since, after one of the most daring exploits that ever took place in the new world. Ninety years before this incursion by the buccaneers, a bold English naval officer, Sir Amyas Preston, after seizing La Guayra, had captured Caracas by means of this path. The Spaniards, apprised of his descent upon their coasts, had fortified the mountain pass but had neglected this mountain trail, as a thing impracticable for any force. Preston, however, adroitly concealing his movements, had actually forced his men to ascend the trail. The ancient chroniclers tell of the terrific nature of the climb, how the exhausted and frightened English sailors dropped upon the rocks, appalled by their dangers and worn out by their hardships, how Preston and his officers forced them up at the point of the sword until finally they gained the crest and descended into the valley. They found the town unprotected, for all its defenders were in the pass, seized it, held it for ransom, then, sallying forth, took the surprised Spanish troops in the pass in the rear and swept them away. After this exploit some desultory efforts had been made by the Spaniards to render the trail still more impracticable with such success as has been stated, and it gradually fell into entire disuse. By nearly all the inhabitants its very existence had been forgotten. It was this trail that Alvarado determined to ascend. The difficulties in his way, even under the most favorable circumstances, might well have appalled the stoutest-hearted mountaineer. In the darkness they would be increased a thousand-fold. He had not done a great deal of mountain climbing, although every one who lived in Venezuela was more or less familiar with the practice; but he was possessed of a cool head, an unshakable nerve, a resolute determination, and unbounded strength, which now stood him in good stead. And he had back of him, to urge him, every incentive in the shape of love and duty that could move humanity to godlike deed. Along the base of the mountain the trail was not difficult although it was pitch-dark under the trees which, except where the mighty cliffs rose sheer in the air like huge buttresses of the range, covered the mountains for the whole expanse of their great altitude, therefore he made his way upward without trouble or accident at first. The moon's rays could not pierce the density of the tropic foliage, of course, but Alvarado was very familiar with this easier portion of the way, for he had often traversed it on hunting expeditions, and he made good progress for several hours in spite of the obscurity. It had been long past midnight when he started, and it was not until daybreak that he passed above the familiar and not untrodden way and entered upon the most perilous part of his journey. The gray dawn revealed to him the appalling dangers he must face. Sometimes clinging with iron grasp to pinnacles of rock, he swung himself along the side of some terrific precipice, where the slightest misstep meant a rush into eternity upon the rocks a thousand feet below. Sometimes he had to spring far across great gorges in the mountains that had once been bridged by mighty trunks of trees, long since moldered away. Sometimes there was nothing for him to do but to scramble down the steep sides of some dark cañon and force himself through cold torrential mountain streams that almost swept him from his feet. Again his path lay over cliffs green with moss and wet with spray, which afforded most precarious support to his grasping hands or slipping feet. Sometimes he had to force a way through thick tropic undergrowth that tore his clothing into rags. Had he undertaken the ascent in a mere spirit of adventure he would have turned back long since from the dangers he met and surmounted with such hardship and difficulty; but he was sustained by the thought of the dreadful peril of the woman he loved, the remembrance of the sufferings of the hapless townspeople, and a consuming desire for revenge upon the man who had wrought this ruin on the shore. With the pale, beautiful face of Mercedes to lead him, and by contrast the hateful, cruel countenance of Morgan to force him, ever before his vision, the man plunged upward with unnatural strength, braving dangers, taking chances, doing the impossible--and Providence watched over him. It was perhaps nine o'clock in the morning when he reached the summit--breathless, exhausted, unhelmed, weaponless, coatless, in rags; torn, bruised, bleeding, but unharmed--and looked down on the white city of Caracas set in its verdant environment like a handful of pearls in a goblet of emerald. He had wondered if he would be in time to intercept the Viceroy, and his strained heart leaped in his tired breast when he saw, a few miles beyond the town on the road winding toward the Orinoco country, a body of men. The sunlight blazing from polished helms or pointed lance tips proclaimed that they were soldiers. He would be in time, thank God! With renewed vigor, he scrambled down the side of the mountain--and this descent fortunately happened to be gentle and easy--and running with headlong speed, he soon drew near the gate of the palace. He dashed into it with reckless haste, indifferent to the protests of the guard, who did not at first recognize in the tattered, bloody, wounded, soiled specimen of humanity his gay and gallant commander. He made himself known at once, and was confirmed in his surmise that the Viceroy had set forth with his troops early in the morning and was still in reaching distance on the road. [Illustration: ... he reached the summit--breathless, exhausted, unhelmed, weaponless, coatless, in rags; torn, bruised, bleeding, but unharmed.] Directing the best horse in the stables to be brought to him, after snatching a hasty meal while it was being saddled, and not even taking time to re-clothe himself, he mounted and galloped after. An hour later he burst through the ranks of the little army and reined in his horse before the astonished Viceroy, who did not recognize in this sorry cavalier his favorite officer, and stern words of reproof for the unceremonious interruption of the horseman broke from his lips until they were checked by the first word from the young captain. "The buccaneers have taken La Guayra and sacked it!" gasped Alvarado hoarsely. "Alvarado!" cried the Viceroy, recognizing him as he spoke. "Are you mad?" "Would God I were, my lord." "The buccaneers?" "Morgan--all Spain hates him with reason--led them!" "Morgan! That accursed scourge again in arms? Impossible! I don't understand!" "The very same! 'Tis true! 'tis true! Oh, your Excellency----" "And my daughter----" "A prisoner! For God's love turn back the men!" "Instantly!" cried the Viceroy. He was burning with anxiety to hear more, but he was too good a soldier to hesitate as to the first thing to be done. Raising himself in his stirrups he gave a few sharp commands and the little army, which had halted when he had, faced about and began the return march to Caracas at full speed. As soon as their manoeuvres had been completed and they moved off, the Viceroy, who rode at the head with Alvarado and the gentlemen of his suite, broke into anxious questioning. "Now, Captain, but that thou art a skilled soldier I could not believe thy tale." "My lord, I swear it is true!" "And you left Donna Mercedes a prisoner?" interrupted de Tobar, who had been consumed with anxiety even greater than that of the Viceroy. "Alas, 'tis so." "How can that be when you are free, señor?" "Let me question my own officer, de Tobar," resumed the Viceroy peremptorily, "and silence, all, else we learn nothing. Now, Alvarado. What is this strange tale of thine?" "My lord, after we left you yesterday morning we made the passage safely down the mountain. Toward evening as we approached La Guayra, just before the point where the road turns into the strand, we were set upon by men in ambush. The soldiers and attendants were without exception slain. Although I fought and beat down one or two of our assailants, they struck me to the earth and took me alive. The two ladies and I alone escaped. No indignity was offered them. I was bound and we were led along the road to a camp. There appeared to be some three hundred and fifty men under the leadership of a man who claimed to be Sir Henry Morgan, sometime pirate and robber, later Vice-Governor of Jamaica, now, as I gathered, in rebellion against his king and in arms against us. They captured the plate galleon with lading from Porto Bello and Peru, and were wrecked on this coast to the westward of La Guayra. They had determined upon the capture of that town, whence they expected to move on Caracas." "And Mercedes?" again interrupted the impetuous and impassioned de Tobar. "Let him tell his tale!" commanded the Viceroy, sternly. "It behooves us, gentlemen, to think first of the cities of our King." "They had captured a band of holy nuns and priests. These were forced, especially the women, by threats you can imagine, to plant scaling ladders against the walls, and, although the troops made a brave defense, the buccaneers mastered them. They carried the place by storm and sacked it. When I left it was burning in several places and turned into a hell." "My God!" ejaculated the old man, amid the cries and oaths of his fierce, infuriated men. "And now tell me about Mercedes." "Morgan--who met her, you remember, when we stopped at Jamaica on our return from Madrid?" "Yes, yes!" "He is in love with her. He wanted to make her his wife. Therefore he kept her from the soldiery." In his eagerness the Viceroy reined in his horse, and the officers and men, even the soldiers, stopped also and crowded around the narrator. "Did he--did he--O Holy Mother have pity upon me!" groaned the Viceroy. "He did her no violence save to kiss her, while I was by." "And you suffered it!" shouted de Tobar, beside himself with rage. "What did she then?" asked the old man, waving his hand for silence. "She struck him in the face again and again with her riding-whip. I was bound, señors. I broke my bonds, struck down one of the guards, wrested a sword from another, and sprang to defend her. But they overpowered me. Indeed, they seized the lady and swore to kill her unless I dropped my weapon." "Death," cried de Lara, "would have been perhaps a fitting end for her. What more?" "We were conveyed into the city after the sack. He insulted her again with his compliments and propositions. He sent a slave to fetch her, but, bound as I was, I sprang upon him and beat him down." "And then?" "Then one of his men, an ancient, one-eyed sailor, interfered and bade him look to the town, else it would be burned over his head, and urged him to secure the pass. In this exigency the pirate desisted from his plan against the lady. He sent Donna Mercedes to a dungeon, me to another." "How came you here, sir, and alone?" asked de Tobar, again interrupting, and this time the Viceroy, pitying the agony of the lover, permitted the question. "Did you, a Spanish officer, leave the lady defenseless amid those human tigers?" "There was nothing else to do, Don Felipe. The sailor who interfered, he set me free. I did refuse to leave without the señorita. He told me I must go without her or not at all. He promised to protect her honor or to kill her--at least to furnish her with a weapon. To go, to reach you, your Excellency, was the only chance for her. Going, I might save her; staying, I could only die." "You did rightly. I commend you," answered the veteran. "Go on." "My lord, I thank you. The way over the road was barred by the party that had seized the pass." "And how came you?" "Straight over the mountain, sir." "What! The Indian trail? The English way?" "The same." "What next?" "At ten to-night, the sailor who released me will open the city gate, the west gate, beneath the shadow of the cliffs--we must be there!" "But how? Can we take the pass? It is strongly held, you say." "My lord, give me fifty brave men who will volunteer to follow me. I will lead them back over the trail and we will get to the rear of the men holding the pass. Do you make a feint at engaging them in force in front and when their attention is distracted elsewhere we will fall on and drive them into your arms. By this means we open the way. Then we will post down the mountains with speed and may arrive in time. Nay, we must arrive in time! Hornigold, the sailor, would guarantee nothing beyond to-night. The buccaneers are drunk with liquor; tired out with slaughter. They will suspect nothing. We can master the whole three hundred and fifty of them with five score men." "Alvarado," cried the Viceroy, "thou hast done well. I thank thee. Let us but rescue my daughter and defeat these buccaneers and thou mayest ask anything at my hands--saving one thing. Gentlemen and soldiers, you have heard the plan of the young captain. Who will volunteer to go over the mountains with him?" Brandishing their swords and shouting with loud acclaim the great body of troopers pressed forward to the service. Alvarado, who knew them all, rapidly selected the requisite number, and they fell in advance of the others. Over them the young captain placed his friend de Tobar as his second in command. "'Tis bravely done!" cried the Viceroy. "Now prick forward to the city, all. We'll refresh ourselves in view of the arduous work before us and then make our further dispositions." The streets of Caracas were soon full of armed men preparing for their venture. As soon as the plight of La Guayra and the Viceroy's daughter became known there was scarcely a civilian, even, who did not offer himself for the rescue. The Viceroy, however, would take only mounted men, and of these only tried soldiers. Alvarado, whom excitement and emotion kept from realizing his fatigue, was provided with fresh apparel, after which he requested a private audience for a moment or two with the Viceroy, and together they repaired to the little cabinet which had been the scene of the happenings the night before. "Your Excellency," began the young man, slowly, painfully, "I could not wait even the hoped-for happy issue of our plans to place my sword and my life in your hands." "What have you done?" asked the old man, instantly perceiving the seriousness of the situation from the anguish in his officer's look and voice. "I have broken my word--forfeited my life." "Proceed." "I love the Donna Mercedes----" "You promised to say nothing--to do nothing." "That promise I did not keep." "Explain." "There is nothing to explain. I was weak--it was beyond my strength. I offer no excuse." "You urge nothing in extenuation?" "Nothing." "'Twas deliberately done?" "Nay, not that; but I----" "S'death! What did you?" "I told her that I loved her, again----" "Shame! Shame!" "I took her into my arms once more----" "Thou double traitor! And she----" "My lord, condemn her not. She is young--a woman." "I do not consider Captain Alvarado, a dishonored soldier, my proper mentor. I shall know how to treat my daughter. What more?" "Nothing more. We abandoned ourselves to our dream, and at the first possible moment I am come to tell you all--to submit----" "Hast no plea to urge?" persisted the old man. "None." "But your reason? By God's death, why do you tell me these things? If thou art base enough to fall, why not base enough to conceal?" "I could not do so, your Excellency. I am not master of myself when she is by--'tis only when away from her I see things in their proper light. She blinds me. No, sir," cried the unhappy Alvarado, seeing a look of contempt on the grim face of the old general, "I do not urge this in defense, but you wanted explanation." "Nothing can explain the falsehood of a gentleman, the betrayal of a friend, the treachery of a soldier." "Nothing--hence I am here." "Perhaps I have estimated you too highly," went on the old man musingly. "I had hoped you were gentle--but base blood must run in your veins." "It may be," answered the young man brokenly, and then he added, as one detail not yet told, "I have found my mother, sir." "Thy mother? What is her condition?" cried the Viceroy, in curious and interested surprise that made him forget his wrath and contempt for the moment. "She was an abbess of our Holy Church. She died upon the sands of La Guayra by her own hand rather than surrender her honor or lend aid to the sack of the town." "That was noble," interrupted the old de Lara. "I may be mistaken after all. Yet 'twere well she died, for she will not see----" He paused significantly. "My shame?" asked Alvarado. "Thy death, señor, for what you have done. No other punishment is meet. Did Donna Mercedes send any message to me?" Alvarado could not trust himself to speak. He bowed deeply. "What was it?" The young man stood silent before him. "Well, I will learn from her own lips if she be alive when we come to the city. I doubt not it will excuse thee." "I seek not to shelter myself behind a woman." "That's well," said the old man. "But now, what is to be done with thee?" "My lord, give me a chance, not to live, but to die honestly. Let me play my part this day as becomes a man, and when Donna Mercedes is restored to your arms----" "Thou wilt plead for life?" "Nay, as God hears me, I will not live dishonored. Life is naught to me without the lady. I swear to thee----" "You have given me your word before, sir," said the old man sternly. "On this cross--it was my mother's," he pulled from his doublet the silver crucifix and held it up. "I will yield my life into your hands without question then, and acclaim before the world that you are justified in taking it. Believe me----" "Thou didst betray me once." "But not this time. Before God--by Christ, His Mother, by my own mother, dead upon the sands, by all that I have hoped for, by my salvation, I swear if I survive the day I will go gladly to my death at your command!" "I will trust you once more, thus far. Say naught of this to any one. Leave me!" "Your Excellency," cried the young man, kneeling before him, "may God reward you!" He strove to take the hand of the old man, but the latter drew it away. "Even the touch of forsworn lips is degradation. You have your orders. Go!" Alvarado buried his face in his hands, groaned bitterly, and turned away without another word. CHAPTER XX WHEREIN MASTER TEACH, THE PIRATE, DIES BETTER THAN HE LIVED [Illustration] It was nearing eleven o'clock in the morning when, after a hurried conference in the patio with the Viceroy and the others, Alvarado and de Tobar marched out with their fifty men. They had discarded all superfluous clothing; they were unarmored and carried no weapons but swords and pistols. In view of the hard climb before them and the haste that was required, they wished to be burdened as lightly as possible. Their horses were brought along in the train of the Viceroy's party which moved out upon the open road to the pass at the same time. These last went forward with great ostentation, the forlorn hope secretly, lest some from the buccaneers might be watching. The fifty volunteers were to ascend the mountain with all speed, make their way along the crest as best they could, until they came within striking distance of the camp of the pirates. Then they were to conceal themselves in the woods there and when the Viceroy made a feigned attack with the main body of his troops from the other side of the mountain, they were to leave their hiding-place and fall furiously upon the rear of the party. Fortunately, they were not required to ascend such a path as that Alvarado had traversed on the other side, for there were not fifty men in all Venezuela who could have performed that tremendous feat of mountaineering. The way to the summit of the range and thence to the pass was difficult, but not impossible, and they succeeded after an hour or two of hard climbing in reaching their appointed station, where they concealed themselves in the woods, unobserved by Teach's men. The Viceroy carried out his part of the programme with the promptness of a soldier. Alvarado's men had scarcely settled themselves in the thick undergrowth beneath the trees whence they could overlook the buccaneers in camp on the road below them, before a shot from the pirate sentry who had been posted toward Caracas called the fierce marauders to arms. They ran to the rude barricade they had erected covering the pass and made preparation for battle. Soon the wood was ringing with shouts and cries and the sound of musketry. Although Teach was a natural soldier and L'Ollonois an experienced and prudent commander, they took no precaution whatever to cover their rear, for such a thing as an assault from that direction was not even dreamed of. Alvarado and de Tobar, therefore, led their men forward without the slightest opposition. Even the noise they made crashing through the undergrowth was lost in the sound of the battle, and attracted no attention from the enemy. It was not until they burst out into the open road and charged forward, cheering madly, that the buccaneers realized their danger. Some of them faced about, only to be met by a murderous discharge from the pistols of the forlorn hope, and the next moment the Spaniards were upon them. The party holding the pass were the picked men, veterans, among the marauders. They met the onset with tremendous courage and crossed blades in the smoke like men, but at the same instant the advance guard of the main army sprang at the barricade and assaulted them vigorously from the other side. The odds were too much for the buccaneers, and after a wild mêlée in which they lost heavily, the survivors gave ground. The road immediately below the pass opened on a little plateau, back of which rose a precipitous wall of rock. Thither such of the buccaneers as were left alive hastily retreated. There were perhaps a dozen men able to use their weapons; among them Teach was the only officer. L'Ollonois had been cut down by de Tobar in the first charge. The Spaniards burst through the pass and surrounded the buccaneers. The firearms on both sides had all been discharged, and in the excitement no one thought of reloading; indeed, with the cumbersome and complicated weapons then in vogue there was no time, and the Spaniards, who had paid dearly for their victory, so desperate had been the defence of the pirates, were fain to finish this detachment in short order. "Yield!" cried Alvarado, as usual in the front ranks of his own men. "You are hopelessly overmatched," pointing with dripping blade to his own and the Viceroy's soldiers as he spoke. "Shall we get good quarter?" called out Teach. A splendid specimen he looked of an Englishman at bay, in spite of his wicked calling, standing with his back against the towering rock, his bare and bloody sword extended menacingly before him, the bright sunlight blazing upon his sunny hair, his blue eyes sparkling with battle-lust and determined courage. Quite the best of the pirates, he! "You shall be hung like the dogs you are," answered Alvarado sternly. "We'd rather die sword in hand, eh, lads?" "Ay, ay." "Come on, then, señors," laughed the Englishman gallantly, saluting with his sword, "and see how bravely we English can die when the game is played and we have lost." Though his cause was bad and his life also, his courage was magnificent. Under other circumstances it would have evoked the appreciation of Alvarado and some consideration at his hands. Possibly he might even have granted life to the man, but memory of the sights of the night before in that devastated town six thousand feet below their feet, and the deadly peril of his sweetheart banished pity from his soul. This man had been the right hand of Morgan; he was, after the captain, the ablest man among the buccaneers. He must die, and it would be a mercy to kill him out of hand, anyway. "Forward, gentlemen!" he cried, and instantly the whole mass closed in on the pirates. Such a fight as Teach and his men made was marvellous. For each life the Spaniards took the pirates exacted a high price, but the odds were too great for any human valor, however splendid, to withstand, and in a brief space the last of the buccaneers lay dying on the hill. Teach was game to the last. Pierced with a dozen wounds, his sword broken to pieces, he lifted himself on his elbow, and with a smile of defiance gasped out the brave chorus of the song of the poet of London town: "Though life now is pleasant and sweet to the sense, We'll be damnably mouldy a hundred years hence." "Tell Morgan," he faltered, "we did not betray--faithful to the end----" And so he died as he had lived. "A brave man!" exclaimed de Tobar with some feeling in his voice. "But a black-hearted scoundrel, nevertheless," answered Alvarado sternly. "Had you seen him last night----" "Ye have been successful, I see, gentlemen," cried the Viceroy, riding up with the main body. "Where is Alvarado?" "I am here, your Excellency." "You are yet alive, señor?" "My work is not yet complete," answered the soldier, "and I can not die until--I--Donna Mer--" "Bring up the led horses," interrupted the Viceroy curtly. "Mount these gentlemen. Let the chirurgeons look to the Spanish wounded." "And if there be any buccaneers yet alive?" asked one of the officers. "Toss them over the cliff," answered the Viceroy; "throw the bodies of all the carrion over, living or dead. They pollute the air. Form up, gentlemen! We have fully twenty-five miles between us and the town which we must reach at ten of the clock. 'Twill be hard riding. Alvarado, assemble your men and you and de Tobar lead the way, I will stay farther back and keep the main body from scattering. We have struck a brave blow first, and may God and St. Jago defend us further. Forward!" CHAPTER XXI THE RECITAL OF HOW CAPTAIN ALVARADO AND DON FELIPE DE TOBAR CAME TO THE RESCUE IN THE NICK OF TIME [Illustration] Old Hornigold had kept his promise, and Alvarado had kept his as well. It was a few minutes before ten when the first Spanish horsemen sprang from their jaded steeds at the end of the road. In that wild race down the mountains, Alvarado had ridden first with de Tobar ever by his side. None had been able to pass these two. The Viceroy had fallen some distance behind. For one reason, he was an old man, and the pace set by the lovers was killing. For another and a better, as he had said, he thought it desirable to stay somewhat in the rear to keep the men closed up; but the pace even of the last and slowest had been a tremendous one. Sparing neither themselves nor their horses, they had raced down the perilous way. Some of them had gone over the cliffs to instant destruction; others had been heavily thrown by the stumbling horses. Some of the horses had given out under the awful gallop and had fallen exhausted, but when the riders were unhurt they had joined the foot soldiers marching after the troopers as fast they could. Alvarado's soldierly instincts had caused him to halt where the road opened upon the sand, for he and de Tobar and the two or three who kept near them could do nothing alone. They were forced to wait until a sufficient force had assembled to begin the attack. He would have been there before the appointed time had it not been for this imperative delay, which demonstrated his capacity more than almost anything else could have done, for he was burning to rush to the rescue of Mercedes. Indeed, he had been compelled to restrain by force the impetuous and undisciplined de Tobar, who thought of nothing but the peril of the woman he adored. There had been a fierce altercation between the two young men before the latter could be persuaded that Alvarado was right. Each moment, however, added to the number of the party. There was no great distance between the first and last, and after a wait of perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, some one hundred and fifty horsemen were assembled. The Viceroy had not come up with the rest, but they were sure he would be along presently, and Alvarado would wait no longer. Bidding the men dismount lest they should be observed on horseback, and stationing one to acquaint the Viceroy with his plans, he divided his troop into three companies, he and de Tobar taking command of one and choosing the nearest fort as their objective point. Captain Agramonte, a veteran soldier, was directed to scour the town, and Lieutenant Nuñez, another trusted officer, was ordered to master the eastern fort on the other side. They were directed to kill every man whom they saw at large in the city, shooting or cutting down every man abroad without hesitation, for Alvarado rightly divined that all the inhabitants would be penned up in some prison or other and that none would be on the streets except the buccaneers. There were still enough pirates in the city greatly to outnumber his force, but many of them were drunk and all of them, the Spaniard counted, would be unprepared. The advantage of the surprise would be with his own men. If he could hold them in play for twenty minutes the Viceroy with another detachment would arrive, and thereafter the end would be certain. They could take prisoners then and reserve them for torture and death--some meet punishment for their crimes. Those necessary preparations were made with the greatest speed, the men were told off in their respective companies, and then, keeping close under the shadow of the cliff for fear of a possible watcher, they started forward. Since ten old Ben Hornigold had been hidden in an arched recess of the gateway waiting their arrival. He had thought, as the slow minutes dragged by, that Alvarado had failed, and he began to contrive some way by which he could account for his escape to Morgan in the morning, when the captain would ask to have him produced, but the arrival of the Spaniards relieved his growing anxiety. "Donna Mercedes?" asked Alvarado of the old boatswain, as he entered the gate. "Safe when I left her in the guardroom with Morgan--and armed. If you would see her alive----" "This way----" cried Alvarado, dashing madly along the street toward the fort. Every man had his weapons in hand, and the little party had scarcely gone ten steps before they met a buccaneer. He had been asleep when he should have watched, and had just been awakened by the sound of their approach. He opened his mouth to cry out, but Alvarado thrust his sword through him before he could utter a sound. The moonlight made the street as light as day, and before they had gone twenty steps farther, turning the corner, they came upon a little party of the pirates. An immediate alarm was given by them. The Spaniards brushed them aside by the impetuosity of their onset, but on this occasion pistols were brought in play. Screams and cries followed the shots, and calls to arms rang through the town. But by this time the other companies were in the city, and they were making terrible havoc as they ran to their appointed stations. The buccaneers came pouring from the houses, most of them arms in hand. It could not be denied that they were ready men. But the three attacks simultaneously delivered bewildered them. The streets in all directions seemed full of foes. The advantage of the surprise was with the Spanish. The pirates were without leadership for the moment and ran aimlessly to and fro, not knowing where to rally; yet little bands did gather together instinctively, and these began to make some headway against the Spanish soldiery. Even the cowards fought desperately, for around every neck was already the feel of a halter. Alvarado and de Tobar soon found themselves detached from their company. Indeed, as the time progressed and the buccaneers began to perceive the situation they put up a more and more stubborn and successful opposition. They rallied in larger parties and offered a stout resistance to the Spanish charges. Disregarding their isolation, the two young officers ran to the fort. Fortunately the way in that direction was not barred. The solitary sentry at the gateway attempted to check them, but they cut him down in an instant. As they mounted the stair they heard, above the shrieks and cries and shots of the tumult that came blowing in the casement with the night wind, the sound of a woman's screams. "Mercedes!" cried de Tobar. "It is she!" They bounded up the stairs, overthrowing one or two startled men who would have intercepted them, and darted to the guardroom. They tore the heavy hangings aside and found themselves in a blaze of light in the long apartment. Two men confronted them. Back of the two, against the wall, in a piteous state of disorder and terror, stood the woman they both loved. In front of her, knife in hand, towered the half-breed. "Treason, treason!" shouted Morgan furiously. "We are betrayed! At them, de Lussan!" As he spoke the four men crossed swords. De Tobar was not the master of the weapon that the others were. After a few rapid parries and lunges the Frenchman had the measure of his brave young opponent. Then, with a laugh of evil intent, by a clever play he beat down the Spaniard's guard, shattering his weapon, and with a thrust as powerful as it was skilful, he drove the blade up to the hilt in poor de Tobar's bosom. The gallant but unfortunate gentleman dropped his own sword as he fell, and clasped his hands by a convulsive effort around the blade of de Lussan. Such was the violence of his grasp that he fairly hugged the sword to his breast, and when he fell backward upon the point the blade snapped. He was done for. Morgan and Alvarado, on the other hand, were more equally matched. Neither had gained an advantage, although both fought with energy and fury. Alvarado was silent, but Morgan made the air ring with shouts and cries for his men. As the swords clashed, Carib raised his hand to fling his knife at Alvarado, but, just as the weapon left his fingers, Mercedes threw herself upon him. The whizzing blade went wild. With a savage oath he seized a pistol and ran toward the Spaniard, who was at last getting the better of the Captain. A cry from Mercedes warned Alvarado of this new danger. Disengaging suddenly, he found himself at sword's point with de Lussan, who had withdrawn his broken weapon from de Tobar's body and was menacing him with it. With three opponents before him he backed up against the wall and at last gave tongue. "To me!" he cried loudly, hoping some of his men were within call. "Alvarado!" As he spoke Morgan closed with him once more, shouting: "On him, de Lussan! Let him have it, Black Dog! We've disposed of one!" As the blades crossed again, the desperate Spaniard, who was a swordsman of swordsmen, put forth all his power. There was a quick interchange of thrust and parry, and the weapon went whirling from the hand of the chief buccaneer. Quick as thought Alvarado shortened his arm and drove home the stroke. Morgan's life trembled in the balance. The maroon, however, who had been seeking a chance to fire, threw himself between the two men and received the force of the thrust full in the heart. His pistol was discharged harmlessly. He fell dead at his master's feet without even a groan. No more would Black Dog watch behind the old man's chair. He had been faithful to his hideous leader and his hideous creed. Before Alvarado could recover his guard, de Lussan struck him with his broken sword. The blow was parried by arm and dagger, but the force of it sent the Spaniard reeling against the wall. At the same instant Morgan seized a pistol and snapped it full in his face. The weapon missed fire, but the buccaneer, clutching the barrel, beat him down with a fierce blow. "So much for these two," he roared. "Let's to the street." De Lussan seized Alvarado's sword, throwing away his own. Morgan picked up his own blade again, and the two ran from the room. A stern fight was being waged in the square, whither all the combatants had congregated, the buccaneers driven there, the Spaniards following. The disciplined valor and determination of the Spanish, however, were slowly causing the buccaneers to give ground. No Spanish soldiers that ever lived could have defeated the old-time buccaneers, but these were different, and their best men had been killed with Teach and L'Ollonois. The opportune arrival of Morgan and de Lussan, however, put heart in their men. Under the direction of these two redoubtable champions they began to make stouter resistance. The battle might have gone in their favor if, in the very nick of time, the Viceroy himself and the remainder of the troops had not come up. They had not thought it necessary to come on foot since the surprise had been effected, and the Viceroy rightly divined they would have more advantage if mounted. Choosing the very freshest horses therefore, he had put fifty of the best soldiers upon them and had led them up on a gallop, bidding the others follow on with speed. The fighting had gradually concentrated before the church and in the eastern fort, where Braziliano had his headquarters. The arrival of the horsemen decided the day. Morgan and de Lussan, fighting desperately in the front ranks with splendid courage, were overridden. De Lussan was wounded, fell, and was trampled to death by the Spanish horsemen, and Morgan was taken prisoner, alive and unharmed. When he saw that all was lost, he had thrown himself upon the enemy, seeking a death in the fight, which, by the Viceroy's orders, was denied him. Many of the other buccaneers also were captured alive; indeed, the Viceroy desired as many of them saved as possible. He could punish a living man in a way to make him feel something of the torture he had inflicted, and for this reason those who surrendered had been spared for the present. Indeed, after the capture of Morgan the remaining buccaneers threw down their arms and begged for mercy. They might as well have appealed to a stone wall for that as to their Spanish captors. A short shrift and a heavy punishment were promised them in the morning. Meanwhile, after a brief struggle, the east fort was taken by assault, and Braziliano was wounded and captured with most of his men. The town was in the possession of the Spanish at last. It was all over in a quarter of an hour. Instantly the streets were filled with a mob of men, women, and children, whose lives had been spared, bewildered by the sudden release from their imminent peril and giving praise to God and the Viceroy and his men. As soon as he could make himself heard in the confusion de Lara inquired for Alvarado. "Where is he?" he cried. "And de Tobar?" "My lord," answered one of the party, "we were directed to take the west fort and those two cavaliers were in the lead, but the pressure of the pirates was so great that we were stopped and have not seen them since. They were ahead of us." "De Cordova," cried the old man to one of his colonels, "take charge of the town. Keep the women and children and inhabitants together where they are for the present. Let your soldiery patrol the streets and search every house from top to bottom. Let no one of these ruffianly scoundrels escape. Take them alive. We'll deal with them in the morning. Fetch Morgan to the west fort after us. Come, gentlemen, we shall find our comrades there, and pray God the ladies have not yet--are still unharmed!" A noble old soldier was de Lara. He had not sought his daughter until he had performed his full duty in taking the town. The anteroom of the fort they found in a state of wild confusion. The dead bodies of the sentry and the others the two cavaliers had cut down on the stairs were ruthlessly thrust aside, and the party of gentlemen with the Viceroy in the lead poured into the guardroom. There, on his back, was stretched the hideous body of the half-breed where he had fallen. There, farther away, the unfortunate de Tobar lay, gasping for breath yet making no outcry. He was leaning on his arm and staring across the room, with anguish in his face not due to the wound he had received but to a sight which broke his heart. "Alas, de Tobar!" cried the Viceroy. "Where is Mercedes?" He followed the glance of the dying man. There at the other side of the room lay a prostrate body, and over it bent a moaning, sobbing figure. It was Mercedes. "Mercedes!" cried the Viceroy running toward her. "Alvarado!" "Tell me," he asked in a heartbreaking voice. "Art thou----" "Safe yet and--well," answered the girl; "they came in the very nick of time. Oh, Alvarado, Alvarado!" she moaned. "Señorita," cried one of the officers, "Don Felipe here is dying. He would speak with you." Mercedes suffered herself to be led to where de Tobar lay upon the floor. One of his comrades had taken his head on his knee. The very seconds of his life were numbered. Lovely in her grief Mercedes knelt at his side, a great pity in her heart. The Viceroy stepped close to him. "I thank you, too," she said. "Poor Don Felipe, he and you saved me, but at the expense of your lives. Would God you could have been spared!" "Nay," gasped the dying man, "thou lovest him. I--watched thee. I heard thee call upon his name. Thou wert not for me, and so I die willingly. He is a noble gentleman. Would he might have won thee!" The man trembled with the violent effort it cost him to speak. He gasped faintly and strove to smile. By an impulse for which she was ever after grateful, she bent her head, slipped her arm around his neck, lifted him up, and kissed him. In spite of his death agony, at that caress he smiled up at her. "Now," he murmured, "I die happy--content--you kissed--me--Jesu--Mercedes----" It was the end of as brave a lover, as true a cavalier as ever drew sword or pledged hand in a woman's cause. "He is dead," said the officer. "God rest his soul, a gallant gentleman," said the Viceroy, taking off his hat, and his example was followed by every one in the room. "And Captain Alvarado?" said Mercedes, rising to her feet and turning to the other figure. "Señorita," answered another of the officers, "he lives." "Oh, God, I thank Thee!" "See--he moves!" A little shudder crept through the figure of the prostrate Captain, who had only been knocked senseless by the fierce blow and was otherwise unhurt. "His eyes are open! Water, quick!" With skilled fingers begot by long practice the cavalier cut the lacings of Alvarado's doublet and gave him water, then a little wine. As the young Captain returned to consciousness, once more the officers crowded around him, the Viceroy in the centre, Mercedes on her knees again. "Mercedes," whispered the young Captain. "Alive--unharmed?" "Yes," answered Mercedes brokenly, "thanks to God and thee." "And de Tobar," generously asserted Alvarado. "Where is he?" "Dead." "Oh, brave de Tobar! And the city----" "Is ours." "And Morgan?" "Here in my hands," said the Viceroy sternly. "Thank God, thank God! And now, your Excellency, my promise. I thought as I was stricken down there would be no need for you to----" "Thou hast earned life, Alvarado, not death, and thou shalt have it." "Señors," said Alvarado, whose faintness was passing from him, "I broke my plighted word to the Viceroy and Don Felipe de Tobar. I love this lady and was false to my charge. Don Alvaro promised me death for punishment, and I crave it. I care not for life without----" "And did he tell thee why he broke his word?" asked Mercedes, taking his hands in her own and looking up at her father. "It was my fault. I made him. In despair I strove to throw myself over the cliff on yonder mountain and he caught me in his arms. With me in his arms--Which of you, my lords," she said, throwing back her head with superb pride, "would not have done the same? Don Felipe de Tobar is dead. He was a gallant gentleman, but I loved him not. My father, you will not part us now?" "No," said the old man, "I will not try. I care not now what his birth or lineage, he hath shown himself a man of noblest soul. You heard the wish of de Tobar. It shall be so. This is the betrothal of my daughter, gentlemen. Art satisfied, Captain? She is noble enough, she hath lineage and race enough for both of you. My interest with our royal master will secure you that patent of nobility you will adorn, for bravely have you won it." CHAPTER XXII IN WHICH SIR HENRY MORGAN SEES A CROSS, CHERISHES A HOPE, AND MAKES A CLAIM [Illustration] These noble and generous words of the Viceroy put such heart into the young Spanish soldier that, forgetting his wounds and his weakness, he rose to his feet. Indeed, the blow that struck him down had stunned him rather than anything else, and he would not have been put out of the combat so easily had it not been that he was exhausted by the hardships of those two terrible days through which he had just passed. The terrific mountain climb, the wild ride, the fierce battle, his consuming anxiety for the woman he loved--these things had so wearied him that he had been unequal to the struggle. The stimulants which had been administered to him by his loving friends had been of great service also in reviving his strength, and he faced the Viceroy, his hand in that of Mercedes, with a flush of pleasure and pride upon his face. Yet, after all, it was the consciousness of having won permission to marry the woman whom he adored and who loved him with a passion that would fain overmatch his own, were that possible, that so quickly restored him to strength. With the realization of what he had gained there came to him such an access of vigor as amazed those who a few moments before had thought him dead or dying. "But for these poor people who have so suffered, this, my lord," he exclaimed with eager gratitude and happiness, "hath been a happy day for me. Last night, sir, on the beach yonder, I found a mother. A good sister, she, of Holy Church, who, rather than carry the ladders which gave access to the town, with the fearful alternative of dishonor as a penalty for refusal, killed herself with her own hand. She died not, praise God, before she had received absolution from a brave priest, although the holy father paid for his office with his life, for Morgan killed him. To-night I find, by the blessing of God, the favor of your Excellency and the kindness of the lady's heart--a wife." He dropped upon his knees as he spoke and pressed a long, passionate kiss upon the happy Mercedes' extended hand. "Lady," he said, looking up at her, his soul in his eyes, his heart in his voice, "I shall strive to make myself noble for thee, and all that I am, and shall be, shall be laid at thy feet." "I want not more than thyself, Señor Alvarado," answered the girl bravely before them all, her own cheeks aglow with happy color. "You have enough honor already. You satisfy me." "Long life to Donna de Lara and Captain Alvarado!" cried old Agramonte, lifting up his hand. "The handsomest, the noblest, the bravest pair in New Spain! May they be the happiest! Give me leave, sir," added the veteran captain turning to the Viceroy. "You have done well. Say I not true, gentlemen? And as for the young captain, as he is fit to stand with the best, it is meet that he should win the heart of the loveliest. His mother he has found. None may know his father----" "Let me be heard," growled a deep voice in broken Spanish, as the one-eyed old sailor thrust himself through the crowd. "Hornigold, by hell!" screamed the bound buccaneer captain, who had been a silent spectator of events from the background. "I missed you. Have you----" The boatswain, mindful of his safety, for in the hurry and confusion of the attack any Spaniard would have cut him down before he could explain, had followed hard upon the heels of Alvarado and de Tobar when they entered the fort and had concealed himself in one of the inner rooms until he saw a convenient opportunity for disclosing himself. He had been a witness to all that had happened in the hall, and he realized that the time had now come to strike the first of the blows he had prepared against his old captain. That in the striking, he wrecked the life and happiness of those he had assisted for his own selfish purpose mattered little to him. He had so long brooded and thought upon one idea, so planned and schemed to bring about one thing, that a desire for revenge fairly obsessed him. As soon as he appeared from behind the hangings where he had remained in hiding, it was evident to every one that he was a buccaneer. Swords were out in an instant. "What's this?" cried the Viceroy in great surprise. "Another pirate free and unbound? Seize him!" Three or four of the men made a rush toward the old buccaneer, but with wonderful agility he avoided them and sprang to the side of Alvarado. "Back, señors!" he cried coolly and composedly, facing their uplifted points. "My lord," said Alvarado, "bid these gentlemen withdraw their weapons. This man is under my protection." "Who is he?" "He I told you of, sir, who set me free, provided Donna Mercedes with a weapon, opened the gate for us. One Benjamin Hornigold." "Thou damned traitor!" yelled that fierce, high voice on the outskirts of the crowd. There was a sudden commotion. A bound man burst through the surprised cavaliers and threw himself, all fettered though he was, upon the sailor. He was without weapon or use of hand, yet he bit him savagely on the cheek. "Hell!" he cried, as they pulled him away and dragged him to his feet, "had I a free hand for a second you'd pay! As it is, I've marked you, and you'll carry the traitor's brand until you die! Curse you, whatever doom comes to me, may worse come to you!" The old buccaneer was an awful figure, as he poured out a horrible torrent of curses and imprecations upon the traitor, grinding his teeth beneath his foam-flecked lips, and even the iron-hearted sailor, striving to staunch the blood, involuntarily shrank back appalled before him. "Señor," he cried, appealing to Alvarado, "I was to have protection!" "You shall have it," answered the young soldier, himself shrinking away from the traitor, although by his treason he had so greatly benefited. "My lord, had it not been for this man, I'd still be a prisoner, the lady Mercedes like those wretched women weeping in the streets. I promised him, in your name, protection, immunity from punishment, and liberty to depart with as much of the treasure of the Porto Bello plate galleon, which was wrecked on the sands a few days ago, of which I told you, as he could carry." "And you did not exceed your authority, Captain Alvarado. We contemn treason in whatsoever guise it doth appear, and we hate and loathe a traitor, but thy word is passed. It will be held inviolate as our own. You are free, knave. I will appoint soldiers to guard you, for should my men see you, not knowing this, they would cut you down; and when occasion serves you may take passage in the first ship that touches here and go where you will. Nay, we will be generous, although we like you not. We are much indebted to you. We have profited by what we do despise. We would reward you. Ask of me something that I may measure my obligation for a daughter's honor saved, if you can realize or feel what that may be." "My lord, hear me," said the boatswain quickly. "There be reasons and reasons for betrayals, and I have one. This man was my captain. I perilled my life a dozen times to save his; I followed him blindly upon a hundred terrible ventures; I lived but for his service. My soul--when I had a soul--was at his command; I loved him. Ay, gentlemen, rough, uncouth, old though I am, I loved this man. He could ask of me anything that I could have given him and he would not have been refused. "Sirs, there came to me a young brother of mine, not such as I, a rude, unlettered sailor, but a gentleman--and college bred. There are quarterings on my family scutcheon, sirs, back in Merry England, had I the wit or care to trace it. He was a reckless youth, chafing under the restraints of that hard religion to which we had been born. The free life of a brother-of-the-coast attracted him. He became like me, a buccaneer. I strove to dissuade him, but without avail. He was the bravest, the handsomest, the most gallant of us all. He came into my old heart like a son. We are not all brute, gentlemen. I have waded in blood and plunder like the rest, but in every heart there is some spot that beats for things better. I divided my love between him and my captain. This man"--he pointed to his old master with his blunted finger, drawing himself up until he looked taller than he was, his one eye flashing with anger and hatred, as with a stern, rude eloquence he recited his wrongs, the grim indictment of a false friend--"this man betrayed us at Panama. With what he had robbed his comrades of he bought immunity, even knighthood, from the King of England. He was made Vice-Governor of Jamaica and his hand fell heavily upon those who had blindly followed him in the old days, men who had served him and trusted him, as I--men whose valor and courage had made him what he was. "He took the lad I loved, and because his proud spirit would not break to his heavy hand and he answered him like the bold, free sailor he was, he hanged him like a dog, sirs! I--I--stooped for his life. I, who cared not for myself, offered to stand in his place upon the gallows platform, though I have no more taste for the rope than any of you, if only he might go free. He laughed at me! He mocked me! I urged my ancient service--he drove me from him with curses and threats like a whipped dog. I could have struck him down then, but that I wanted to save him for a revenge that might measure my hate, slow and long and terrible. Not mere sudden death, that would not suffice. Something more. "Treachery? My lord, his was the first. I played his own game and have overcome it with the same. D'ye blame me now? Take your treasure! I want none of it. I want only him and my revenge! Liberty's dear to all of us. I'll give mine up. You may take my life with the rest, but first give me this man. Let me deal with him. I will revenge you all, and when I have finished with him I will yield myself to you." He was a hideous figure of old hate and rancor, of unslaked passion, of monstrous possibilities of cruel torture. Hardened as they were by the customs of their age to hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, the listeners turned cold at such an exhibition of malefic passion, of consuming hatred. Even Morgan himself, intrepid as he was, shrank from the awful menace of the mordant words. "My lord!" shouted the unfortunate captain, "give him no heed. He lies in his throat; he lies a thousand times. 'Twas a mutinous dog, that brother of his, that I hanged. I am your prisoner. You are a soldier. I look for speedy punishment, certain death it may be, but let it not be from his hand." "Think, señors," urged the boatswain; "you would hang him perhaps. It is the worst that you could do. Is that punishment meet for him? He has despoiled women, bereft children, tortured men, in the streets of La Guayra. A more fitting punishment should await him. Think of Panama, of Maracaibo, of Porto Bello! Recall what he did there. Is hanging enough? Give him to me. Let me have my way. You have your daughter, safe, unharmed, within the shelter of her lover's arms. The town is yours. You have won the fight. 'Twas I that did it. Without me your wives, your children, your subjects, would have been slaughtered in Caracas and this dog would have been free to go further afield for prey. He coveted your daughter--would fain make her his slave in some desert island. Give him to me!" "Old man," said the Viceroy, "I take back my words. You have excuse for your betrayal, but your request I can not grant. I have promised him to Alvarado. Nay, urge me no further. My word is passed." "Thank you, thank you!" cried Morgan, breathing again. "Silence, you dog!" said the Viceroy, with a look of contempt on his face. "But take heart, man," he added, as he saw the look of rage and disappointment sweep over the face of the old sailor, "he will not escape lightly. Would God he had blood enough in his body to pay drop by drop for all he hath shed. His death shall be slow, lingering, terrible. You have said it, and you shall see it, too, and you will. He shall have time to repent and to think upon the past. You may glut yourself with his suffering and feed fat your revenge. 'Twill be a meet, a fitting punishment so far as our poor minds can compass. We have already planned it." "You Spanish hounds!" roared Morgan stoutly, "I am a subject of England. I demand to be sent there for trial." "You are an outlaw, sir, a man of no country, a foe to common humanity, and taken in your crimes. Silence, I say!" again cried the old man. "You pollute the air with your speech. Take him away and hold him safe. To-morrow he shall be punished." "Without a trial?" screamed the old buccaneer, struggling forward. "Thou art tried already. Thou hast been weighed in the balances and found wanting. Alvarado, art ready for duty?" "Ready, your Excellency," answered the young man, "and for this duty." "Take him then, I give him into your hands. You know what is to be done; see you do it well." "Ay, my lord. Into the strong-room with him, men!" ordered the young Spaniard, stepping unsteadily forward. As he did so the crucifix he wore, which the disorder in his dress exposed to view, flashed into the light once more. Morgan's eyes fastened upon it for the first time. "By heaven, sir!" he shouted. "Where got ye that cross?" "From his mother, noble captain," interrupted Hornigold, coming closer. He had another card to play. He had waited for this moment, and he threw back his head with a long, bitter laugh. There was such sinister, such vicious mockery and meaning in his voice, with not the faintest note of merriment to relieve it, that his listeners looked aghast upon him. "His mother?" cried Morgan. "Then this is----" He paused. The assembled cavaliers, Mercedes, and Alvarado stood with bated breath waiting for the terrible boatswain's answer. "The boy I took into Cuchillo when we were at Panama," said Hornigold in triumph. "And my son!" cried the old buccaneer with malignant joy. A great cry of repudiation and horror burst from the lips of Alvarado. The others stared with astonishment and incredulity written on their faces. Mercedes moved closer to her lover and strove to take his hand. "My lords and gentlemen, hear me," continued the buccaneer, the words rushing from his lips in his excitement, for in the new relationship he so promptly and boldly affirmed, he thought he saw a way of escape from his imminent peril. "There lived in Maracaibo a Spanish woman, Maria Zerega, who loved me. By her there was a child--mine--a boy. I took them with me to Panama. The pestilence raged there after the sack. She fell ill, and as she lay dying besought me to save the boy. I sent Hornigold to her with instructions to do her will, and he carried the baby to the village of Cuchillo with that cross upon his breast and left him. We lost sight of him. There, the next day, you found him. He has English blood in his veins. He is my son, sirs, a noble youth," sneered the old man. "Now you have given me to him. 'Tis not meet that the father should suffer at the hands of the son. You shall set me free," added the man, turning to Alvarado. "Rather than that--" cried Hornigold, viciously springing forward knife in hand. He was greatly surprised at the bold yet cunning appeal of his former captain. "Back, man!" interposed the Viceroy. "And were you a thousand times his father, were you my brother, my own father, you should, nevertheless, die, as it hath been appointed." "Can this be true?" groaned Alvarado, turning savagely to Hornigold. "I believe it to be." "Why not kill me last night then?" "I wanted you for this minute. 'Tis a small part of my revenge. To see him die and by his son's hand--A worthy father, noble son----" "Silence!" shouted de Lara. "Art thou without bowels of compassion, man! Alvarado, I pity thee, but this makes the promise of the hour void. Nay, my daughter"--as Mercedes came forward to entreat him--"I'd rather slay thee with my own hand than wed thee to the son of such as yon!" "My lord, 'tis just," answered Alvarado. His anguish was pitiful to behold. "I am as innocent of my parentage as any child, yet the suffering must be mine. The sins of the fathers are visited on the children. I did deem it yesterday a coward's act to cut the thread of my life but now--I cannot survive--I cannot live--and know that in my veins--runs the blood of such a monster. My lord, you have been good to me. Gentlemen, you have honored me. Mercedes, you have loved me--O God! You, infamous man, you have fathered me. May the curse of God, that God whom you mock, rest upon you! My mother loved this man once, it seems. Well, nobly did she expiate. I go to join her. Pray for me. Stay not my hand. Farewell!" He raised his poniard. "Let no one stop him," cried the old Viceroy as Alvarado darted the weapon straight at his own heart. "This were the best end." Mercedes had stood dazed during this conversation, but with a shriek of horror, as she saw the flash of the blade, she threw herself upon her lover, and strove to wrench the dagger from him. "Alvarado!" she cried, "whatever thou art, thou hast my heart! Nay, slay me first, if thou wilt." CHAPTER XXIII HOW THE GOOD PRIEST FRA ANTONIO DE LAS CASAS TOLD THE TRUTH, TO THE GREAT RELIEF OF CAPTAIN ALVARADO AND DONNA MERCEDES, AND THE DISCOMFITURE OF MASTER BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD AND SIR HENRY MORGAN [Illustration] "Ay, strike, Alvarado," cried the Viceroy, filled with shame and surprise at the sight of his daughter's extraordinary boldness, "for though I love her, I'd rather see her dead than married to the son of such as he. Drive home your weapon!" he cried in bitter scorn. "Why stay your hand? Only blood can wash out the shame she hath put upon me before you all this day. Thou hast a dagger. Use it, I say!" "Do you hear my father's words, Alvarado?" cried Mercedes sinking on her knees and stretching up her hands to him. "'Tis a sharp weapon. One touch will end it all, and you can follow." "God help me!" cried the unhappy young Captain, throwing aside the poniard and clasping his hands to his eyes. "I cannot! Hath no one here a point for me? If I have deserved well of you or the State, sir, bid them strike home." "Live, young sir," interrupted Morgan, "there are other women in the world. Come with me and----" "If you are my father, you have but little time in this world," interrupted the Spaniard, turning to Morgan and gnashing his teeth at him. "I doubt not but you were cruel to my mother. I hate you! I loathe you! I despise you for all your crimes! And most of all for bringing me into the world. I swear to you, had I the power, I'd not add another moment to your life. The world were better rid of you." "You have been well trained by your Spanish nurses," cried Morgan resolutely, although with sneering mockery and hate in his voice, "and well you seem to know the duty owed by son to sire." "You have done nothing for me," returned the young soldier, "you abandoned me. Such as you are you were my father. You cast me away to shift for myself. Had it not been for these friends here----" "Nay," said Morgan, "I thought you dead. That cursed one-eyed traitor there told me so, else I'd sought you out." [Illustration: "God help me!" cried Alvarado, throwing aside the poniard, "I cannot!"] "Glad am I that you did not, for I have passed my life where no child of yours could hope to be--among honorable men, winning their respect, which I now forfeit because of thee." "Alvarado," said the Viceroy, "this much will I do for thee. He shall be shot like a soldier instead of undergoing the punishment we had designed for him. This much for his fatherhood." "My lord, I ask it not," answered the young man. "Sir," exclaimed Morgan, a gleam of relief passing across his features, for he knew, of course, that death was his only expectation, and he had greatly feared that his taking off would be accompanied by the most horrible tortures that could be devised by people who were not the least expert in the practice of the unmentionable cruelties of the age, "you, at least, are a father, and I thank you." "Yes, I am a father and a most unhappy one," groaned de Lara, turning toward Alvarado. "Perhaps it is well you did not accomplish your purpose of self-destruction after all, my poor friend. As I said before, Spain hath need of you. You may go back to the old country beyond the great sea. All here will keep your secret; my favor will be of service to you even there. You can make a new career with a new name." "And Mercedes?" asked Alvarado. "You have no longer any right to question. Ah, well, it is just that you should hear. The girl goes to a convent; the only cloak for her is in our Holy Religion--and so ends the great race of de Laras!" "No, no," pleaded Mercedes, "send me not there! Let me go with him!" She stepped nearer to him, beautiful and beseeching. "My father," she urged, "you love me." She threw her arms around his neck and laid her head upon his breast. Upon it her father tenderly pressed his hand. "You loved my mother, did you not?" she continued. "Think of her. Condemn me not to the living death of a convent--away from him. If that man be his father--and I can not believe it, there is some mistake, 'tis impossible that anything so foul should bring into the world a man so noble--yet I love him! You know him. You have tried him a thousand times. He has no qualities of his base ancestry. His mother at least died like a Spanish gentlewoman. My lords, gentlemen, some of you have known me from my childhood. You have lived in our house and have followed the fortunes of my father--you have grown gray in our service. Intercede for me!" "Your Excellency," said old Don Cæsar de Agramonte, a man, who, as Mercedes had said, had literally grown gray in the service of the Viceroy, and who was man of birth scarcely inferior to his own, "the words of the Lady Mercedes move me profoundly. By your grace's leave, I venture to say that she hath spoken well and nobly, and that the young Alvarado, whom we have seen in places that try men's souls to the extreme, hath always comported himself as a Spanish gentleman should. This may be a lie. But if it is true, his old association with you and yours, and some humor of courage and fidelity and gentleness that I doubt not his mother gave him, have washed out the taint. Will you not reconsider your words? Give the maiden to the man. I am an old soldier, sir, and have done you some service. I would cheerfully stake my life to maintain his honor and his gentleness at the sword's point." "He speaks well, Don Alvaro," cried Captain Gayoso, another veteran soldier. "I join my plea to that of my comrade, Don Cæsar." "And I add my word, sir." "And I, mine." "And I, too," came from the other men of the suite. "Gentlemen, I thank you," said Alvarado, gratefully looking at the little group; "this is one sweet use of my adversity. I knew not I was so befriended----" "You hear, you hear, my father, what these noble gentlemen say?" interrupted Mercedes. "But," continued Alvarado sadly, "it is not meet that the blood of the princely de Laras should be mingled with mine. Rather the ancient house should fall with all its honors upon it than be kept alive by degradation. I thank you, but it can not be." "Your Excellency, we humbly press you for an answer," persisted Agramonte. "Gentlemen--and you have indeed proven yourselves generous and gentle soldiers--I appreciate what you say. Your words touch me profoundly. I know how you feel, but Alvarado is right. I swear to you that I would rather let my line perish than keep it in existence by such means. Rather anything than that my daughter should marry--forgive me, lad--the bastard son of a pirate and buccaneer, a wicked monster, like that man!" "Sir," exclaimed a thin, faint old voice from the outskirts of the room, "no base blood runs in the veins of that young man. You are all mistaken." "Death and fury!" shouted Morgan, who was nearer to him, "it is the priest! Art alive? Scuttle me, I struck you down--I do not usually need to give a second blow." "Who is this?" asked de Lara. "Back, gentlemen, and give him access to our person." The excited men made way for a tall, pale, gaunt figure of a man clad in the habit of a Dominican. As he crossed his thin hands on his breast and bowed low before the Viceroy, the men marked a deeply scarred wound upon his shaven crown, a wound recently made, for it was still raw and open. The man tottered as he stood there. "'Tis the priest!" exclaimed Hornigold, who had been a silent and disappointed spectator of the scene at last. "He lives then?" "The good father!" said Mercedes, stepping from her father's side and scanning the man eagerly. "He faints! A chair for him, gentlemen, and wine!" "Now, sir," said the Viceroy as the priest seated himself on a stool which willing hands had placed for him, after he had partaken of a generous draught of wine, which greatly refreshed him, "your name?" "Fra Antonio de Las Casas, your Excellency, a Dominican, from Peru, bound for Spain on the plate galleon, the _Almirante Recalde_, captured by that man. I was stricken down by his blow as I administered absolution to the mother of the young captain. I recovered and crawled into the woods for concealment, and when I saw your soldiers, your Excellency, I followed, but slowly, for I am an old man and sore wounded." "Would that my blow had bit deeper, thou false priest!" roared Morgan in furious rage. "Be still!" commanded the old Viceroy sternly. "Speak but another word until I give you leave and I'll have you gagged! You said strange words, Holy Father, when you came into the hall." "I did, my lord." "You heard----" "Some of the conversation, sir, from which I gathered that this unfortunate man"--pointing to Morgan, who as one of the chief actors in the transaction had been placed in the front rank of the circle, although tightly bound and guarded by the grim soldiers--"claimed to be the father of the brave young soldier." "Ay, and he hath established the claim," answered de Lara. "Nay, my lord, that can not be." "Why not, sir," interrupted Alvarado, stepping forward. "Because it is not true." "Thank God, thank God!" cried Alvarado. Indeed, he almost shouted in his relief. "How know you this?" asked Mercedes. "My lady, gentles all, I have proof irrefutable. He is not the child of that wicked man. His father is----" "I care not who," cried Alvarado, having passed from death unto life in the tremendous moments, "even though he were the meanest and poorest peasant, so he were an honest man." "My lord," said the priest, "he was a noble gentleman." "I knew it, I knew it!" cried Mercedes. "I said it must be so." "Ay, a gentleman, a gentleman!" burst from the officers in the room. "Your Excellency," continued the old man, turning to the Viceroy. "His blood is as noble as your own." "His name?" said the old man, who had stood unmoved in the midst of the tumult. "Captain Alvarado that was," cried the Dominican, with an inborn love of the dramatic in his tones, "stand forth. My lord and lady, and gentles all, I present to you Don Francisco de Guzman, the son of his excellency, the former Governor of Panama and of his wife, Isabella Zerega, a noble and virtuous lady, though of humbler walk of life and circumstance than her husband." "De Guzman! De Guzman!" burst forth from the soldiers. "It is a lie!" shouted Hornigold. "He is Morgan's son. He was given to me as such. I left him at Cuchillo. You found him, sir----" He appealed to the Viceroy. "My venerable father, with due respect to you, sir, we require something more than your unsupported statement to establish so great a fact," said the Viceroy deliberately, although the sparkle in his eyes belied his calm. "Your grace speaks well," said Morgan, clutching at his hope still. "I require nothing more. I see and believe," interrupted Mercedes. "But I want proof," sternly said her father. "And you shall have it," answered the priest. "That cross he wears----" "As I am about to die!" exclaimed Morgan, "I saw his mother wear it many a time, and she put it upon his breast." "Not this one, sir," said Fra Antonio, "but its fellow. There were two sisters in the family of Zerega. There were two crosses made, one for each. In an evil hour the elder sister married you----" "We did, indeed, go through some mockery of a ceremony," muttered Morgan. "You did, sir, and 'twas a legal one, for when you won her--by what means I know not, in Maracaibo--you married her. You were forced to do so before you received her consent. One of my brethren who performed the service told me the tale. After you took her away from Maracaibo her old father, broken hearted at her defection, sought asylum in Panama with the remaining daughter, and there she met the Governor, Don Francisco de Guzman. He loved her, he wooed and won her, and at last he married her, but secretly. She was poor and humble by comparison with him; she had only her beauty and her virtue for her dower, and there were reasons why it were better the marriage should be concealed for a while. "A child was born. You were that child, sir. Thither came this man with his bloody marauders. In his train was his wretched wife and her own boy, an infant, born but a short time before that of the Governor. De Guzman sallied out to meet them and was killed at the head of his troops. They burned Panama and turned that beautiful city into a hell like unto La Guayra. I found means to secrete Isabella de Guzman and her child. The plague raged in the town. This man's wife died. He gave command to Hornigold to take the child away. He consulted me, as a priest whose life he had spared, as to what were best to do with him, and I advised Cuchillo, but his child died with its mother before it could be taken away. "Isabella de Guzman was ill. I deemed it wise to send her infant away. I urged her to substitute her child for the dead body of the other, intending to provide for its reception at Cuchillo, and she gave her child to the sailor. In the confusion and terror it must have been abandoned by the woman to whom it was delivered; she, it was supposed, perished when the buccaneers destroyed the place out of sheer wantonness when they left Panama. I fell sick of the fever shortly after and knew not what happened. The poor mother was too seriously ill to do anything. It was months ere we recovered and could make inquiries for the child, and then it had disappeared and we found no trace of it. You, sir," pointing to Hornigold, "had gone away with the rest. There was none to tell us anything. We never heard of it again and supposed it dead." "And my child, sir priest?" cried Morgan. "What became of it?" "I buried it in the same grave with its poor mother with the cross on its breast. May God have mercy on their souls!" "A pretty tale, indeed," sneered the buccaneer. "It accounts in some measure for the situation," said the Viceroy, "but I must have further proof." "Patience, noble sir, and you shall have it. These crosses were of cunning construction. They open to those who know the secret. There is room in each for a small writing. Each maiden, so they told me, put within her own cross her marriage lines. If this cross hath not been tampered with it should bear within its recess the attestation of the wedding of Francisco de Guzman and Isabella Zerega." "The cross hath never left my person," said Alvarado, "since I can remember." "And I can bear testimony," said the Viceroy, "that he hath worn it constantly since a child. Though it was large and heavy I had a superstition that it should never leave his person. Know you the secret of the cross?" "I do, for it was shown me by the woman herself." "Step nearer, Alvarado," said de Lara. "Nay, sir," said the aged priest, as Alvarado came nearer him and made to take the cross from his breast, "thou hast worn it ever there. Wear it to the end. I can open it as thou standest." He reached up to the carven cross depending from the breast of the young man bending over him. "A pretty story," sneered Morgan again, "but had I aught to wager, I'd offer it with heavy odds that that cross holds the marriage lines of my wife." "Thou wouldst lose, sir, for see, gentlemen," cried the priest, manipulating the crucifix with his long, slender fingers and finally opening it, "the opening! And here is a bit of parchment! Read it, sir." He handed it to the Viceroy. The old noble, lifting it to the light, scanned the closely-written, faded lines on the tiny scrap of delicate parchment. "'Tis a certificate of marriage of----" He paused. "Maria Zerega," said Morgan, triumphantly. "Nay," answered the old man, and his triumph rung in his voice, "of Isabella Zerega and Francisco de Guzman." "Hell and fury!" shouted the buccaneer, "'tis a trick!" "And signed by----" He stopped again, peering at the faded, almost illegible signature. "By whom, your Excellency?" interrupted the priest smiling. "'Tis a bit faded," said the old man, holding it nearer. "Fra--An--tonio! Was it thou?" "Even so, sir. I married the mother, as I buried her yester eve upon the sand." "'Tis a fact established," said the Viceroy, satisfied at last. "Don Francisco de Guzman, Alvarado that was, thy birth and legitimacy are clear and undoubted. There by your side stands the woman you have loved. If you wish her now I shall be honored to call you my son." "My lord," answered Alvarado, "that I am the son of an honorable gentleman were joy enough, but when thou givest me Donna Mercedes----" He turned, and with a low cry the girl fled to his arms. He drew her close to him and laid his hand upon her head, and then he kissed her before the assembled cavaliers, who broke into enthusiastic shouts and cries of happy approbation. "There's more evidence yet," cried the priest, thrusting his hand into the bosom of his habit and drawing forth a glittering object. "Sir, I took this from the body of Sister Maria Christina, for upon my advice she entered upon the service of the Holy Church after her bereavement, keeping her secret, for there was naught to be gained by its publication. That Church she served long and well. Many sufferers there be to whom she ministered who will rise up and call her blessed. She killed herself upon the sands rather than give aid and comfort to this man and his men, or submit herself to the evil desires of his band. Sirs, I have lived long and suffered much, and done some little service for Christ, His Church, and His children, but I take more comfort from the absolution that I gave her when she cried for mercy against the sin of self-slaughter than for any other act in my career. Here, young sir," said the priest, opening the locket, "are the pictures of your father and mother. See, cavaliers, some of you knew Don Francisco de Guzman and can recognize him. That is his wife. She was young and had golden hair like thine, my son, in those days. You are the express image of her person as I recall it." "My father! My mother!" cried Alvarado. "Look, Mercedes, look your Excellency, and gentlemen, all! But her body, worthy father?" "Even as her soul hath gone out into the new life beyond, her body was drawn out into the great deep at the call of God--but not unblessed, señors, even as she went not unshriven, for I knelt alone by her side, unable by my wounds and weakness to do more service, and said the office of our Holy Church." "May God bless thee, as I bless thee!" answered Alvarado, to give him the familiar name. As he spoke he sank on his knees and pressed a long and fervent kiss upon the worn and withered hand of the aged man. "It is not meet," said the priest, withdrawing his hand and laying it in blessing upon the bowed fair head. "That which was lost is found again. Let us rejoice and praise God for His mercy. Donna Mercedes, gentlemen, my blessing on Señor de Guzman and upon ye all. Benedicite!" he said, making the sign of the cross. CHAPTER XXIV IN WHICH SIR HENRY MORGAN APPEALS UNAVAILINGLY ALIKE TO THE PITY OF WOMAN, THE FORGIVENESS OF PRIEST, THE FRIENDSHIP OF COMRADE, AND THE HATRED OF MEN "And bless me also, my father," cried Mercedes, kneeling by Alvarado's side. "Most willingly, my fair daughter," answered the old man. "A fit helpmate indeed thou hast shown thyself for so brave a soldier. By your leave, your Excellency. You will indulge an old man's desire to bless the marriage of the son as he did that of the mother? No obstacle, I take it, now exists to prevent this most happy union." "None," answered the Viceroy, as the young people rose and stood before him, "and glad I am that this happy solution of our difficulties has come to pass." "And when, sir," questioned the priest further, "may I ask that you design----" "The sooner the better," said the Viceroy smiling grimly. "By the mass, reverend father, I'll feel easier when he hath her in his charge!" "I shall prove as obedient to thee as wife, Don Francisco----" said Mercedes with great spirit, turning to him. "Nay, call me Alvarado, sweet lady," interrupted her lover. "Alvarado then, if you wish--for it was under that name that I first loved thee--I shall prove as obedient a wife to thee as I was a dutiful daughter to thee, my father." "'Tis not saying o'er much," commented the Viceroy, but smiling more kindly as he said the words. "Nay, I'll take that back, Mercedes, or modify it. Thou hast, indeed, been to me all that a father could ask, until----" "'Twas my fault, your Excellency. On me be the punishment," interrupted the lover. "Thou shalt have it with Mercedes," answered the Viceroy, laughing broadly now. "What say ye, gentlemen?" "My lord," said Agramonte, from his age and rank assuming to speak for the rest, "there is not one of us who would not give all he possessed to stand in the young Lord de Guzman's place." "Well, well," continued the old man, "when we have restored order in the town we shall have a wedding ceremony--say to-morrow." "Ay, ay, to-morrow, to-morrow!" cried the cavaliers. "Your Excellency, there is one more thing yet to be done," said Alvarado as soon as he could be heard. "Art ever making objections, Captain Alvarado--Don Francisco, that is. We might think you had reluctance to the bridal," exclaimed the Viceroy in some little surprise. "What is it now?" "The punishment of this man." "I gave him into your hands." "By God!" shouted old Hornigold, "I wondered if in all this fathering and mothering and sweethearting and giving in marriage he had forgot----" "Not so. The postponement but makes it deeper," answered Alvarado gravely. "Rest satisfied." "And I shall have my revenge in full measure?" "In full, in overflowing measure, señor." "Do you propose to shoot me?" asked the buccaneer chieftain coolly. "Or behead me?" "That were a death for an honorable soldier taken in arms and forced to bide the consequences of his defeat. It is not meet for you," answered Alvarado. "What then? You'll not hang me? Me! A knight of England! Sometime Governor of Jamaica!" "These titles are nothing to me. And hanging is the death we visit upon the common criminal, a man who murders or steals, or blasphemes. Your following may expect that. For you there is----" "You don't mean to burn me alive, do you?" "Were you simply a heretic that might be meet, but you are worse----" "What do you mean?" cried the buccaneer, carried away by the cold-blooded menace in Alvarado's words. "Neither lead, nor steel, nor rope, nor fire!" "Neither one nor the other, sir." "Is it the wheel? The rack? The thumbscrew? Sink me, ye shall see how an Englishman can die! Even from these I flinch not." "Nor need you, from these, for none of them shall be used," continued the young soldier, with such calculating ferocity in his voice that in spite of his dauntless courage and intrepidity the blood of Morgan froze within his veins. "Death and destruction!" he shouted. "What is there left?" "You shall die, señor, not so much by the hand of man as by the act of God." "God! I believe in none. There is no God!" "That you shall see." "Your Excellency, my lords! I appeal to you to save me from this man, not my son but my nephew----" "S'death, sirrah!" shouted the Viceroy, enraged beyond measure by the allusion to any relationship, "not a drop of your base blood pollutes his veins. I have given you over to him. He will attend to you." "What means he to do then?" "You shall see." "When?" "To-morrow." The sombre, sinister, although unknown purpose of the Spaniards had new terrors lent to it by the utter inability of the buccaneer to foresee what was to be his punishment. He was a man of the highest courage, the stoutest heart, yet in that hour he was astonied. His knees smote together; he clenched his teeth in a vain effort to prevent their chattering. All his devilry, his assurance, his fortitude, his strength, seemed to leave him. He stood before them suddenly an old, a broken man, facing a doom portentous and terrible, without a spark of strength or resolution left to meet it, whatever it might be. And for the first time in his life he played the craven, the coward. He moistened his dry lips and looked eagerly from one face to another in the dark and gloomy ring that encircled him. "Lady," he said at last, turning to Mercedes as the most likely of his enemies to befriend him, "you are a woman. You should be tender hearted. You don't want to see an old man, old enough to be your father, suffer some unknown, awful torture? Plead for me! Ask your lover. He will refuse you nothing now." There was a dead silence in the room. Mercedes stared at the miserable wretch making his despairing appeal as if she were fascinated. "Answer him," said her stern old father, "as a Spanish gentlewoman should." It was a grim and terrible age. The gospel under which all lived in those days was not that of the present. It was a gospel writ in blood, and fire, and steel. "An eye for an eye," said the girl slowly, "a tooth for a tooth, life for life, shame for shame," her voice rising until it rang through the room. "In the name of my ruined sisters, whose wails come to us this instant from without, borne hither on the night wind, I refuse to intercede for you, monster. For myself, the insults you have put upon me, I might forgive, but not the rest. The taking of one life like yours can not repay." "You hear?" cried Alvarado. "Take him away." "One moment," cried Morgan. "Holy Father--your religion--it teaches to forgive they say. Intercede for me!" His eyes turned with faint hope toward the aged priest. "Not for such as thou," answered the old man looking from him. "I could forgive this," he touched his battered tonsure, "and all thou hast done against me and mine. That is not little, for when I was a lad, a youth, before I took the priestly yoke upon me, I loved Maria Zerega--but that is nothing. What suffering comes upon me I can bear, but thou hast filled the cup of iniquity and must drain it to the dregs. Hark ye--the weeping of the desolated town! I can not interfere! They that take the sword shall perish by it. It is so decreed. You believe not in God----" "I will! I do!" cried the buccaneer, clutching at the hope. "I shall pray for thee, that is all." "Hornigold," cried the now almost frenzied man, his voice hoarse with terror and weakness, "they owe much to you. Without you they had not been here. I have wronged you grievously--terribly--but I atone by this. Beg them, not to let me go but only to kill me where I stand! They will not refuse you. Had it not been for you this man would not have known his father. He could not have won this woman. You have power. You'll not desert an old comrade in his extremity? Think, we have stood together sword in hand and fought our way through all obstacles in many a desperate strait. Thou and I, old shipmate. By the memory of that old association, by the love you once bore me, and by that I gave to you, ask them for my death, here--now--at once!" "You ask for grace from me!" snarled Hornigold savagely, yet triumphant. "You--you hanged my brother----" "I know, I know! 'Twas a grievous error. I shall be punished for all--ask them to shoot me--hang me----" He slipped to his knees, threw himself upon the floor, and lay grovelling at Hornigold's feet. "Don't let them torture me, man! My God, what is it they intend to do to me?" "Beg, you hound!" cried the boatswain, spurning him with his foot. "I have you where I swore I'd bring you. And, remember, 'tis I that laid you low--I--I--" He shrieked like a maniac. "When you suffer in that living death for which they design you, remember with every lingering breath of anguish that it was I who brought you there! You trifled with me--mocked me--betrayed me. You denied my request. I grovelled at your feet and begged you--you spurned me as I do you now. Curse you! I'll ask no mercy for you!" "My lord," gasped out Morgan, turning to the Viceroy in one final appeal, as two of the men dragged him to his feet again, "I have treasure. The galleon we captured--it is buried--I can lead you there." "There is not a man of your following," said the Viceroy, "who would not gladly purchase life by the same means." "And 'tis not needed," said the boatswain, "for I have told them where it lies." "If Teach were here," said Morgan, "he would stand by me." A man forced his way into the circle carrying a sack in his hand. Drawing the strings he threw the contents at the feet of the buccaneer, and there rolled before him the severed head of the only man save Black Dog upon whom he could have depended, his solitary friend. Morgan staggered back in horror from the ghastly object, staring at it as if fascinated. [Illustration: ... he threw the contents at the feet of the buccaneer, and there rolled before him the severed head of ... his solitary friend.] "Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" laughed the old boatswain. "What was it that he sang? 'We'll be damnably mouldy'--ay, even you and I captain--'an hundred years hence.' But should you live so long, you'll not forget 'twas I." "You didn't betray me then, my young comrade," whispered Morgan, looking down at the severed head. "You fought until you were killed. Would that my head might lie by your side." He had been grovelling, pleading, weeping, beseeching, but the utter uselessness of it at last came upon him and some of his courage returned. He faced them once more with head uplifted. "At your will, I'm ready," he cried. "I defy you! You shall see how Harry Morgan can die. Scuttle me, I'll not give way again!" "Take him away," said Alvarado; "we'll attend to him in the morning." "Wait! Give me leave, since I am now tried and condemned, to say a word." A cunning plan had flashed into the mind of Morgan, and he resolved to put it in execution. "It has been a long life, mine, and a merry one. There's more blood upon my hands--Spanish blood, gentlemen--than upon those of any other human being. There was Puerto Principe. Were any of you there? The men ran like dogs before me there and left the women and children. I wiped my feet upon your accursed Spanish flag. I washed the blood from my hands with hair torn from the heads of your wives, your sweethearts, and you had not courage to defend them!" A low murmur of rage swept through the room. "But that's not all. Some of you perhaps were at Porto Bello. I drove the women of the convents to the attack, as in this city yesterday. When I finished I burned the town--it made a hot fire. I did it--I--who stand here! I and that cursed one-eyed traitor Hornigold, there!" The room was in a tumult now. Shouts, and curses, and imprecations broke forth. Weapons were bared, raised, and shaken at him. The buccaneer laughed and sneered, ineffable contempt pictured on his face. "And some of you were at Santa Clara, at Chagres, and here in Venezuela at Maracaibo, where we sunk the ships and burned your men up like rats. Then, there was Panama. We left the men to starve and die. Your mother, Señor Agramonte--what became of her? Your sister, there! Your wife, here! The sister of your mother, you young dog--what became of them all? Hell was let loose in this town yesterday. Panama was worse than La Guayra. I did it--I--Harry Morgan's way!" He thrust himself into the very faces of the men, and with cries of rage they rushed upon him. They brushed aside the old Viceroy, drowning his commands with their shouts. Had it not been for the interference of Hornigold and Alvarado they would have cut Morgan to pieces where he stood. And this had been his aim--to provoke them beyond measure by a recital of some of his crimes so that he would be killed in their fury. But the old boatswain with superhuman strength seized the bound captain and forced him into a corner behind a table, while Alvarado with lightning resolution beat down the menacing sword points. "Back!" he cried. "Do you not see he wished to provoke this to escape just punishment? I would have silenced him instantly but I thought ye could control yourselves. I let him rave on that he might be condemned out of his own mouth, that none could have doubt that he merits death at our hands to-morrow. Sheath your weapons instantly, gentlemen!" he cried. "Ay," said the Viceroy, stepping into the crowd and endeavoring to make himself heard, "under pain of my displeasure. What, soldiers, nobles, do ye turn executioners in this way?" "My mother----" "My sister----" "The women and children----" "The insult to the flag----" "The disgrace to the Spanish name!" "That he should say these things and live!" "Peace, sirs, he will not say words like these to-morrow. Now, we have had enough. See!" cried the old Viceroy, pointing to the windows, "the day breaks. Take him away. Agramonte, to you I commit the fort. Mercedes, Alvarado, come with me. Those who have no duties to perform, go get some sleep. As for you, prisoner, if you have preparation to make, do so at once, for in the morning you shall have no opportunity." "I am ready now!" cried Morgan recklessly, furious because he had been balked in his attempt. "Do with me as you will! I have had my day, and it has been a long and merry one." "And I mine, to-night. It has been short, but enough," laughed Hornigold, his voice ringing like a maniac's in the hall. "For I have had my revenge!" "We shall take care of that in the morning," said Alvarado, turning away to follow the Viceroy and Mercedes. BOOK VI IN WHICH THE CAREER OF SIR HENRY MORGAN IS ENDED ON ISLA DE LA TORTUGA, TO THE GREAT DELECTATION OF MASTER BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD, HIS SOMETIME FRIEND CHAPTER XXV AND LAST. WHEREIN IS SEEN HOW THE JUDGMENT OF GOD CAME UPON THE BUCCANEERS IN THE END Before it was submerged by the great earthquake which so tremendously overwhelmed the shores of South America with appalling disaster nearly a century and a half later, a great arid rock on an encircling stretch of sandy beach--resultant of untold centuries of struggle between stone and sea--thrust itself above the waters a few miles northward of the coast of Venezuela. The cay was barren and devoid of any sort of life except for a single clump of bushes that had sprung up a short distance from the huge rock upon a little plateau sufficiently elevated to resist the attacks of the sea, which at high tide completely overflowed the islet except at that one spot. Four heavy iron staples had been driven with great difficulty into holes drilled in the face of the volcanic rock. To these four large chains had been made fast. The four chains ended in four fetters and the four fetters enclosed the ankles and wrists of a man. The length of the four chains had been so cunningly calculated that the arms and legs of the man were drawn far apart, so that he resembled a gigantic white cross against the dark surface of the stone. A sailor would have described his position by saying that he had been "spread-eagled" by those who had fastened him there. Yet the chains were not too short to allow a little freedom of motion. He could incline to one side or to the other, lift himself up or down a little, or even thrust himself slightly away from the face of the rock. The man was in tatters, for his clothing had been rent and torn by the violent struggles he had made before he had been securely fastened in his chains. He was an old man, and his long gray hair fell on either side of his lean, fierce face in tangled masses. A strange terror of death--the certain fate that menaced him, was upon his countenance. He had borne himself bravely enough except for a few craven moments, while in the presence of his captors and judges, chief among whom had been the young Spanish soldier and the one-eyed sailor whom he had known for so many years. With the bravado of despair he had looked with seeming indifference on the sufferings of his own men that same morning. After being submitted to the tortures of the rack, the boot, the thumbscrew, or the wheel, in accordance with the fancy of their relentless captors, they had been hanged to the outer walls and he had been forced to pass by them on his way to this hellish spot. But the real courage of the man was gone now. His simulation had not even been good enough to deceive his enemies, and now even that had left him. He was alone, so he believed, upon the island, and all of the mortal fear slowly creeping upon him already appeared in his awful face, clearly exhibited by the light of the setting sun streaming upon his left hand for he was chained facing northward, that is, seaward. As he fancied himself the only living thing upon that island he took little care to conceal his emotions--indeed, it was impossible for him any longer to keep up the pretence of indifference. His nerves were shattered, his spirit broken. Retribution was dogging him hard. Vengeance was close at hand at last. Besides, what mattered it? He thought himself alone, absolutely alone. But in that fancy he was wrong, for in the solitary little copse of bushes of which mention has been made there lay hidden a man--an ancient sailor. His single eye gleamed as fiercely upon the bound, shackled prisoner as did the setting sun itself. Old Benjamin Hornigold, who had schemed and planned for his revenge, had insisted upon being put ashore on the other side of the island after the boats had rowed out of sight of the captive, that he might steal back and, himself unseen, watch the torture of the man who had betrayed him and wronged him so deeply that in his diseased mind no expiation could be too awful for the crime; that he might glut his fierce old soul with the sight for which it had longed since the day Harry Morgan, beholden to him as he was for his very life and fortune, for a thousand brave and faithful, if nefarious, services, had driven him like a dog from his presence. Alvarado--who, being a Spaniard, could sympathize and understand the old sailor's lust for revenge--had readily complied with his request, and had further promised to return for the boatswain in two days. They calculated nicely that the already exhausted prisoner would scarcely survive that long, and provisions and water ample for that period had been left for the sustenance of Hornigold--alone. Morgan, however, did not know this. He believed his only companions to be the body of the half-breed who had died for him as he had lived for him, and the severed head of a newer comrade who had not betrayed him. The body lay almost at his feet; the head had been wedged in the sand so that its sightless face was turned toward him in the dreadful, lidless staring gaze of sudden death. And those two were companions with whom he could better have dispensed, even in his solitude. They had said to the buccaneer, as they fastened him to the rocks, that they would not take his life, but that he would be left to the judgment of God. What would that be? He thought he knew. He had lived long enough on the Caribbean to know the habits of that beautiful and cruel sea. There was a little stretch of sand at his feet and then the water began. He estimated that the tide had been ebbing for an hour or so when he was fastened up and abandoned. The rock to which he had been chained was still wet, and he noticed that the dampness existed far above his head. The water would recede--and recede--and recede--until perhaps some three hundred feet of bare sand would stretch before him, and then it would turn and come back, back, back. Where would it stop? How high would it rise? Would it flood in in peaceful calm as it was then drawing away? Would it come crashing in heavy assault upon the sands as it generally did, beating out his life against the rock? He could not tell. He gazed at it intently so long as there was light, endeavoring to decide the momentous question. To watch it was something to do. It gave him mental occupation, and so he stared and stared at the slowly withdrawing water-line. Of the two he thought he should prefer a storm. He would be beaten to pieces, the life battered out of him horribly in that event; but that would be a battle, a struggle,--action. He could fight, if he could not wait and endure. It would be a terrible death, but it would be soon over and, therefore, he preferred it to the slow horror of watching the approach of the waters creeping in and up to drown him. The chief agony of his position, however, the most terrifying feature in this dreadful situation to which his years of crime had at last brought him, was that he was allowed no choice. He had always been a man of swift, prompt, bold action; self-reliant, fearless, resolute, a master not a server; accustomed to determine events in accordance with his own imperious will, and wont to bring them about as he planned. To be chained there, impotent, helpless, waiting, indeed, the judgment of God, was a thing which it seemed impossible for him to bear. The indecision of it, the uncertainty of it, added to his helplessness and made it the more appalling to him. The judgment of God! He had never believed in a God since his boyhood days, and he strove to continue in his faithlessness now. He had been a brave man, dauntless and intrepid, but cold, paralyzing fear now gripped him by the heart. A few lingering sparks of the manhood and courage of the past that not even his crimes had deprived him of still remained in his being, however, and he strove as best he might to control the beating of his heart, to still the trembling of his arms and legs which shook the chains against the stone face of the rock making them ring out in a faint metallic clinking, which was the sweetest music that had ever pierced the eager hollow of the ear of the silent listener and watcher concealed in the thicket. So long as it was light Morgan intently watched the sea. There was a sense of companionship in it which helped to alleviate his unutterable loneliness. And he was a man to whom loneliness in itself was a punishment. There were too many things in the past that had a habit of making their presence felt when he was alone, for him ever to desire to be solitary. Presently the sun disappeared with the startling suddenness of tropic latitudes, and without twilight darkness fell over the sea and over his haggard face like a veil. The moon had not yet risen and he could see nothing. There were a few faint clouds on the horizon, he had noticed, which might presage a storm. It was very dark and very still, as calm and peaceful a tropic night as ever shrouded the Caribbean. Farther and farther away from him he could hear the rustle of the receding waves as the tide went down. Over his head twinkled the stars out of the deep darkness. In that vast silence he seemed to hear a voice, still and small, talking to him in a faint whisper that yet pierced the very centre of his being. All that it said was one word repeated over and over again, "God--God--God!" The low whisper beat into his brain and began to grow there, rising louder and louder in its iteration until the whole vaulted heaven throbbed with the ringing sound of it. He listened--listened--it seemed for hours--until his heart burst within him. At last he screamed and screamed, again and again, "Yes--yes! Now I know--I know!" And still the sound beat on. He saw strange shapes in the darkness. One that rose and rose, and grew and grew, embracing all the others until its head seemed to touch the stars, and ever it spoke that single word "God--God--God!" He could not close his eyes, but if he had been able to raise his hand he would have hid his face. The wind blew softly, it was warm and tender, yet the man shivered with cold, the sweat beaded his brow. Then the moon sprang up as suddenly as the sun had fallen. Her silver radiance flooded the firmament. Light, heavenly light once more! He was alone. The voice was still; the shadow left him. Far away from him the white line of the water was breaking on the silver sand. His own cry came back to him and frightened him in the dead silence. Now the tide turned and came creeping in. It had gone out slowly; it had lingered as if reluctant to leave him; but to his distraught vision it returned with the swiftness of a thousand white horses tossing their wind-blown manes. The wind died down; the clouds were dissipated. The night was so very calm, it mocked the storm raging in his soul. And still the silvered water came flooding in; gently--tenderly--caressingly--the little waves lapped the sands. At last they lifted the ghastly head of young Teach--he'd be damnably mouldy a hundred years hence!--and laid it at his feet. He cursed the rising water, and bade it stay--and heedlessly it came on. It was a tropic sea and the waters were as warm as those of any sun-kissed ocean, but they broke upon his knees with the coldness of eternal ice. They rolled the heavier body of his faithful slave against him--he strove to drive it away with his foot as he had striven to thrust aside the ghastly head, and without avail. The two friends receded as the waves rolled back but they came on again, and again, and again. They had been faithful to him in life, they remained with him in death. Now the water broke about his waist; now it rose to his breast. He was exhausted; worn out. He hung silent, staring. His mind was busy; his thought went back to that rugged Welsh land where he had been born. He saw himself a little boy playing in the fields that surrounded the farmhouse of his father and mother. He took again that long trip across the ocean. He lived again in the hot hell of the Caribbean. Old forms of forgotten buccaneers clustered about him. Mansfelt, under whom he had first become prominent himself. There on the horizon rose the walls of a sleeping town. With his companions he slowly crept forward through the underbrush, slinking along like a tiger about to spring upon its prey. The doomed town flamed before his eyes. The shrieks of men, the prayers of women, the piteous cries of little children came into his ears across forty years. Cannon roared in his ear--the crash of splintered wood, the despairing appeals for mercy, for help, from drowning mariners, as he stood upon a bloody deck watching the rolling of a shattered, sinking ship. Was that water, spray from some tossing wave, or blood, upon his hand? The water was higher now; it was at his neck. There were Porto Bello, Puerto Principe, and Maracaibo, and Chagres and Panama--ah, Panama! All the fiends of hell had been there, and he had been their chief! They came back now to mock him. They pointed at him, gibbered upon him, threatened him, and laughed--great God, how they laughed! There was pale-faced, tender-eyed Maria Zerega who had died of the plague, and the baby, the boy. Jamaica, too, swept into his vision. There was his wife shrinking away from him in the very articles of death. There was young Ebenezer Hornigold, dancing right merrily upon the gallows together with others of the buccaneers he had hanged. The grim figure of the one-eyed boatswain rose before him and leered upon him and swept the other apparitions away. This was La Guayra--yesterday. He had been betrayed. Whose men were those? The men hanging on the walls? And Hornigold had done it--old Ben Hornigold--that he thought so faithful. He screamed aloud again with hate, he called down curses upon the head of the growing one-eyed apparition. And the water broke into his mouth and stopped him. It called him to his senses for a moment. His present peril overcame the hideous recollection of the past. That water was rising still. Great God! At last he prayed. Lips that had only cursed shaped themselves into futile petitions. There was a God, after all. The end was upon him, yet with the old instinct of life he lifted himself upon his toes. He raised his arms as far as the chains gave him play and caught the chains themselves and strove to pull, to lift, at last only to hold himself up, a rigid, awful figure. He gained an inch or two, but his fetters held him down. As the water supported him he found little difficulty in maintaining the position for a space. But he could go no higher--if the water rose an inch more that would be the end. He could breathe only between the breaking waves now. The body of the black was swung against him again and again; the head of young Teach kissed him upon the cheek; and still the water seemed to rise, and rise, and rise. He was a dead man like the other two, indeed he prayed to die, and yet in fear he clung to the chains and held on. Each moment he fancied would be his last. But he could not let go. Oh, God! how he prayed for a storm; that one fierce wave might batter him to pieces; but the waters were never more calm than on that long, still night, the sea never more peaceful than in those awful hours. By and by the waters fell. He could not believe it at first. He still hung suspended and waited with bated breath. Was he deceived? No, the waters were surely falling. The seconds seemed minutes to him, the minutes, hours. At last he gained assurance. There was no doubt but that the tide was going down. The waves had risen far, but he had been lifted above them; now they were falling, falling! Yes, and they were bearing away that accursed body and that ghastly head. He was alive still, saved for the time being. The highest waves only touched his breast now. Lower--lower--they moved away. Reluctantly they lingered; but they fell, they fell. To drown? That was not the judgment of God for him then. What would it be? His head fell forward on his breast--he had fainted in the sudden relief of his undesired salvation. Long time he hung there and still the tide ebbed away, carrying with it all that was left of the only two who had loved him. He was alone now, surely, save for that watcher in the bushes. After a while consciousness returned to him again, and after the first swift sense of relief there came to him a deeper terror, for he had gone through the horror and anguish of death and had not died. He was alive still, but as helpless as before. What had the Power he had mocked designed for his end? Was he to watch that ghastly tide come in again and rise, and rise, and rise until it caught him by the throat and threatened to choke him, only to release him as before? Was he to go through that daily torture until he starved or died of thirst? He had not had a bite to eat, a drop to drink, since the day before. It was morning now. On his right hand the sun sprang from the ocean bed with the same swiftness with which it had departed the night before. Like the tide, it, too, rose, and rose. There was not a cloud to temper the fierceness with which it beat upon his head, not a breath of air to blow across his fevered brow. The blinding rays struck him like hammers of molten iron. He stared at it out of his frenzied, blood-shot eyes and writhed beneath its blazing heat. Before him the white sand burned like smelted silver, beyond him the tremulous ocean seemed to seethe and bubble under the furious fire of the glowing heaven above his head--a vault of flaming topaz over a sapphire sea. He closed his eyes, but could not shut out the sight--and then the dreams of night came on him again. His terrors were more real, more apparent, more appalling, because he saw his dreaded visions in the full light of day. By and by these faded as the others had done. All his faculties were merged into one consuming desire for water--water. The thirst was intolerable. Unless he could get some his brain would give way. He was dying, dying, dying! Oh, God, he could not die, he was not ready to die! Oh, for one moment of time, for one drop of water--God--God--God! Suddenly before his eyes there arose a figure. At first he fancied it was another of the apparitions which had companied with him during the awful night and morning; but this was a human figure, an old man, bent, haggard like himself with watching, but with a fierce mad joy in his face. Where had he come from? Who was he? What did he want? The figure glared upon the unhappy man with one fiery eye, and then he lifted before the captive's distorted vision something--what was it--a cup of water? Water--God in heaven--water brimming over the cup! It was just out of reach of his lips--so cool, so sweet, so inviting! He strained at his chains, bent his head, thrust his lips out. He could almost touch it--not quite! He struggled and struggled and strove to break his fetters, but without avail. Those fetters could not be broken by the hand of man. He could not drink--ah, God!--then he lifted his blinded eyes and searched the face of the other. "Hornigold!" he whispered hoarsely with his parched and stiffened lips. "Is it thou?" A deep voice beat into his consciousness. "Ay. I wanted to let you know there was water here. You must be thirsty. You'd like a drink? So would I. There is not enough for both of us. Who will get it? I. Look!" "Not all, not all!" screamed the old captain faintly, as the other drained the cup. "A little! A drop for me!" "Not one drop," answered Hornigold, "not one drop! If you were in hell and I held a river in my hand, you would not get a drop! It's gone." He threw the cup from him. "I brought you to this--I! Do you recall it? You owe this to me. You had your revenge--this is mine. But it's not over yet. I'm watching you. I shall not come out here again, but I'm watching you, remember that! I can see you!" "Hornigold, for God's sake, have pity!" "You know no God; you have often boasted of it--neither do I. And you never knew pity--neither do I!" [Illustration: "I wanted to let you know there was water here ... There is not enough for both of us. Who will get it? I; look!"] "Take that knife you bear--kill me!" "I don't want you to die--not yet. I want you to live--live--a long time, and remember!" "Hornigold, I'll make amends! I'll be your slave!" "Ay, crawl and cringe now, you dog! I swore that you should do it! It's useless to beg me for mercy. I know not that word--neither did you. There is nothing left in me but hate--hate for you. I want to see you suffer----" "The tide! It's coming back. I can't endure this heat and thirst! It won't drown me----" "Live, then," said the boatswain. "Remember, I watch!" He threw his glance upward, stopped suddenly, a fierce light in that old eye of his. "Look up," he cried, "and you will see! Take heart, man. I guess you won't have to wait for the tide, and the sun won't bother you long. Remember, I am watching you!" He turned and walked away, concealing himself in the copse once more where he could see and not be seen. The realization that he was watched by one whom he could not see, one who gloated over his miseries and sufferings and agonies, added the last touch to the torture of the buccaneer. He had no longer strength nor manhood, he no longer cried out after that one last appeal to the merciless sailor. He did not even look up in obedience to the old man's injunction. What was there above him, beneath him, around him, that could add to his fear? He prayed for death. They were the first and last prayers that had fallen from his lips for fifty years, those that day. Yet when death did come at last he shrank from it with an increasing terror and horror that made all that he had passed through seem like a trifle. When old Hornigold had looked up he had seen a speck in the vaulted heaven. It was slowly soaring around and around in vast circles, and with each circle coming nearer and nearer to the ground. A pair of keen and powerful eyes were aloft there piercing the distance, looking, searching, in every direction, until at last their glance fell upon the figure upon the rock. The circling stopped. There was a swift rush through the air. A black feathered body passed between the buccaneer and the sun, and a mighty vulture, hideous bird of the tropics, alighted on the sands near by him. [Illustration: Hell had no terror like to this, which he, living, suffered.] So this was the judgment of God upon this man! For a second his tortured heart stopped its beating. He stared at the unclean thing, and then he shrank back against the rock and screamed with frantic terror. The bird moved heavily back a little distance and stopped, peering at him. He could see it by turning his head. He could drive it no farther. In another moment there was another rush through the air, another, another! He screamed again. Still they came, until it seemed as if the earth and the heavens were black with the horrible birds. High in the air they had seen the first one swooping to the earth, and with unerring instinct, as was their habit, had turned and made for the point from which the first had dropped downward to the shore. They circled themselves about him. They sat upon the rock above him. They stared at him with their lustful, carrion, jeweled eyes out of their loathsome, featherless, naked heads, drawing nearer--nearer--nearer. He could do no more. His voice was gone. His strength was gone. He closed his eyes, but the sight was still before him. His bleeding, foamy lips mumbled one unavailing word: "Hornigold!" From the copse there came no sound, no answer. He sank forward in his chains, his head upon his breast, convulsive shudders alone proclaiming faltering life. Hell had no terror like to this which he, living, suffered. There was a weight upon his shoulder now fierce talons sank deep into his quivering flesh. In front of his face, before a pair of lidless eyes that glowed like fire, a hellish, cruel beak struck at him. A faint, low, ghastly cry trembled through the still air. * * * * * And the resistless tide came in. A man drove away the birds at last before they had quite taken all, for the torn arms still hung in the iron fetters; an old man, blind of one eye, the black patch torn off the hideous hole that had replaced the socket. He capered with the nimbleness of youth before the ghastly remains of humanity still fastened to that rock. He shouted and screamed, and laughed and sang. The sight had been too horrible even for him. He was mad, crazy; his mind was gone. He had his revenge, and it had eaten him up. The waters dashed, about his feet and seemed to awaken some new idea in his disordered brain. "What!" he cried, "the tide is in. Up anchor, lads! We must beat out to sea. Captain, I'll follow you. Harry Morgan's way to lead--old Ben Hornigold's to follow--ha, ha! ho, ho!" He waded out into the water, slowly going deeper and deeper. A wave swept him off his feet. A hideous laugh came floating back over the sea, and then he struck out, and out, and out---- * * * * * And so the judgment of God was visited upon Sir Henry Morgan and his men at last, and as it was writ of old: _With what measure they had meted out, it had been measured back to them again!_ [Illustration] 
37116	----	* * * * * Transcriber's Note: This is a faithful reproduction of the original work with the exception of changes listed at the end. Also: Notation: Words in italics are indicated _like this_. But the publisher also wanted to emphasize names in sentences already italicized, so he printed them in the regular font which is indicated here with: _The pirates then went to =Hispaniola=._ Superscripts are indicated like this: S^{ta} Maria. Footnotes are located near the end of the work. * * * * * HISTORY OF THE BUCCANEERS OF AMERICA. By JAMES BURNEY, F.R.S. CAPTAIN IN THE ROYAL NAVY. London: _Printed by Luke Hansard & Sons, near Lincoln's-Inn Fields;_ FOR PAYNE AND FOSS, PALL-MALL. 1816. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. _Considerations on the Rights acquired by the Discovery of Unknown Lands, and on the Claims advanced by the Spaniards._ CHAP. II. _Review of the Dominion of the =Spaniards= in =Hayti= or =Hispaniola=._ Page Hayti, or Hispaniola, the Land on which the Spaniards first settled in America 7 Government of Columbus 9 Dogs made use of against the Indians 10 Massacre of the Natives, and Subjugation of the Island 11 Heavy Tribute imposed 12 City of Nueva Ysabel, or Santo Domingo 14 Beginning of the Repartimientos 16 Government of Bovadilla _ib._ The Natives compelled to work the Mines 17 Nicolas Ovando, Governor _ib._ Working the Mines discontinued 18 The Natives again forced to the Mines 19 Insurrection in Higuey 20 Encomiendas established _ib._ Africans carried to the West Indies 21 Massacre of the People of Xaragua 22 Death of Queen Ysabel 23 Desperate condition of the Natives 24 The Grand Antilles 26 Small Antilles, or Caribbee Islands _ib._ Lucayas, or Bahama Islands _ib._ The Natives of the Lucayas betrayed to the Mines 27 Fate of the Natives of Porto Rico 28 D. Diego Columbus, Governor _ib._ Increase of Cattle in Hayti. Cuba 29 De las Casas and Cardinal Ximenes endeavour to serve the Indians 30 Cacique Henriquez _ib._ Footnotes CHAP. III. _Ships of different European Nations frequent the =West Indies=. Opposition experienced by them from the Spaniards. Hunting of Cattle in =Hispaniola=._ Adventure of an English Ship 32 The French and other Europeans resort to the West Indies 33 Regulation proposed in Hispaniola, for protection against Pirates _ib._ Hunting of Cattle in Hispaniola 34 Matadores _ib._ Guarda Costas 35 Brethren of the Coast 36 CHAP. IV. _Iniquitous Settlement of the Island =Saint Christopher= by the =English= and =French=. =Tortuga= seized by the Hunters. Origin of the name =Buccaneer=. The name =Flibustier=. Customs attributed to the =Buccaneers=._ The English and French settle on Saint Christopher 38 Are driven away by the Spaniards 40 They return 41 Tortuga seized by the Hunters 41 Whence the Name Buccaneer 42 the Name Flibustier 43 Customs attributed to the Buccaneers 45 CHAP. V. _Treaty made by the Spaniards with Don =Henriquez=. Increase of English and French in the =West Indies=. =Tortuga= surprised by the Spaniards. Policy of the English and French Governments with respect to the Buccaneers. =Mansvelt=, his attempt to form an independent Buccaneer Establishment. French West-India Company. =Morgan= succeeds =Mansvelt= as Chief of the Buccaneers._ Cultivation in Tortuga 48 Increase of the English and French Settlements in the West Indies _ib._ Tortuga surprised by the Spaniards 49 Is taken possession of for the Crown of France 51 Policy of the English and French Governments with respect to the Buccaneers 52 The Buccaneers plunder New Segovia 53 The Spaniards retake Tortuga _ib._ With the assistance of the Buccaneers the English take Jamaica 54 The French retake Tortuga _ib._ Pierre le Grand, a French Buccaneer _ib._ Alexandre 55 Montbars, surnamed the Exterminator _ib._ Bartolomeo Portuguez _ib._ L'Olonnois, and Michel le Basque, take Maracaibo and Gibraltar 55 Outrages committed by L'Olonnois _ib._ Mansvelt, a Buccaneer Chief, attempts to form a Buccaneer Establishment 56 Island S^{ta} Katalina, or Providence; since named Old Providence _ib._ Death of Mansvelt 57 French West-India Company _ib._ The French Settlers dispute their authority 58 Morgan succeeds Mansvelt; plunders Puerto del Principe _ib._ Maracaibo again pillaged 59 Morgan takes Porto Bello: his Cruelty _ib._ He plunders Maracaibo and Gibraltar 60 His Contrivances to effect his Retreat 61 CHAP. VI. _Treaty of =America=. Expedition of the Buccaneers against =Panama=. Exquemelin's History of the American Sea Rovers. Misconduct of the European Governors in the =West Indies=._ Treaty between Great Britain and Spain 63 Expedition of the Buccaneers against Panama 64 They take the Island S^{ta}. Katalina 65 Attack of the Castle at the River Chagre _ib._ Their March across the Isthmus 66 The City of Panama taken 67 And burnt 68 The Buccaneers depart from Panama 69 Exquemelin's History of the Buccaneers of America 71 Flibustiers shipwrecked at Porto Rico; and put to death by the Spaniards 73 CHAP. VII. _=Thomas Peche.= Attempt of =La Sound= to cross the =Isthmus of America=. Voyage of =Antonio de Vea= to the =Strait of Magalhanes=. Various Adventures of the Buccaneers, in the =West Indies=, to the year 1679._ Thomas Peche 75 La Sound attempts to cross the Isthmus _ib._ Voyage of Ant. de Vea 76 Massacre of the French in Samana 77 French Fleet wrecked on Aves 77 Granmont _ib._ Darien Indians 79 Porto Bello surprised by the Buccaneers _ib._ CHAP. VIII. _Meeting of Buccaneers at the =Samballas=, and =Golden Island=. Party formed by the English Buccaneers to cross the =Isthmus=. Some Account of the Native Inhabitants of the =Mosquito Shore=._ Golden Island 81 Account of the Mosquito Indians 82 CHAP. IX. _Journey of the Buccaneers across the =Isthmus of America=._ Buccaneers commence their March 91 Fort of S^{ta} Maria taken 95 John Coxon chosen Commander 96 They arrive at the South Sea 97 CHAP. X. _First Buccaneer Expedition in the =South Sea=._ In the Bay of Panama 98 Island Chepillo _ib._ Battle with a small Spanish Armament _ib._ Richard Sawkins 99 Panama, the new City 100 Coxon returns to the West Indies 101 Richard Sawkins chosen Commander _ib._ Taboga; Otoque 102 Attack of Pueblo Nuevo 103 Captain Sawkins is killed _ib._ Imposition practised by Sharp 104 Sharp chosen Commander 105 Some return to the West Indies _ib._ The Anchorage at Quibo _ib._ Island Gorgona 106 Island Plata 107 Adventure of Seven Buccaneers _ib._ Ilo 109 Shoals of Anchovies _ib._ La Serena plundered and burnt _ib._ Attempt of the Spaniards to burn the Ship of the Buccaneers _ib._ Island Juan Fernandez 110 Sharp deposed from the Command 111 Watling elected Commander _ib._ William, a Mosquito Indian, left on the Island Juan Fernandez 112 Island Yqueque; Rio de Camarones 113 They attack Arica _ib._ Are repulsed; Watling killed 114 Sharp again chosen Commander 115 Huasco; Ylo _ib._ The Buccaneers separate 116 Proceedings of Sharp and his Followers _ib._ They enter a Gulf 118 Shergall's Harbour 119 Another Harbour _ib._ The Gulf is named the English Gulf _ib._ Duke of York's Islands 120 A Native killed by the Buccaneers 121 Native of Patagonia carried away _ib._ Passage round Cape Horn 122 Appearance like Land, in 57° 50' S. _ib._ Ice Islands _ib._ Arrive in the West Indies 123 Sharp, and others, tried for Piracy _ib._ CHAP. XI. _Disputes between the French Government and their West-India Colonies. =Morgan= becomes Deputy Governor of =Jamaica=. =La Vera Cruz= surprised by the Flibustiers. Other of their Enterprises._ Prohibitions against Piracy disregarded by the French Buccaneers 125-6 Sir Henry Morgan, Deputy Governor of Jamaica 126 His Severity to the Buccaneers _ib._ Van Horn, Granmont, and De Graaf, go against La Vera Cruz 127 They surprise the Town by Stratagem 127 Story of Granmont and an English Ship 128 Disputes of the French Governors with the Flibustiers of Saint Domingo 130 CHAP. XII. _Circumstances which preceded the Second Irruption of the Buccaneers into the =South Sea=. Buccaneers under =John Cook= sail from =Virginia=; stop at the =Cape de Verde Islands=; at =Sierra Leone=. Origin and History of the Report concerning the supposed Discovery of =Pepys Island=._ Circumstances preceding the Second Irruption of the Buccaneers into the South Sea 132 Buccaneers under John Cook 134 Cape de Verde Islands 135 Ambergris; The Flamingo _ib._ Coast of Guinea 136 Sherborough River 137 John Davis's Islands _ib._ History of the Report of a Discovery named Pepys Island _ib._ Shoals of small red Lobsters 140 Passage round Cape Horne _ib._ CHAP. XIII. _Buccaneers under =John Cook= arrive at =Juan Fernandez=. Account of =William=, a Mosquito Indian, who had lived there three years. They sail to the =Galapagos Islands=; thence to the Coast of =New Spain=. =John Cook= dies. =Edward Davis= chosen Commander._ The Buccaneers under Cook joined by the Nicholas of London, John Eaton 141 At Juan Fernandez 142 William the Mosquito Indian _ib._ Juan Fernandez first stocked with Goats by its Discoverer 143 Appearance of the Andes _ib._ Islands Lobos de la Mar _ib._ At the Galapagos Islands 145 Duke of Norfolk's Island _ib._ Cowley's Chart of the Galapagos 146 King James's Island _ib._ Mistake by the Editor of Dampier _ib._ Concerning Fresh Water and Herbage at the Galapagos _ib._ & 147 Land and Sea Turtle 148 Mammee Tree _ib._ Coast of New Spain; Cape Blanco 149 John Cook, Buccaneer Commander, dies _ib._ Edward Davis chosen Commander _ib._ CHAP. XIV. _=Edward Davis= Commander. On the Coast of =New Spain= and =Peru=. Algatrane, a bituminous earth. =Davis= is joined by other Buccaneers. =Eaton= sails to the =East Indies=. =Guayaquil= attempted. =Rivers of St. Jago=, and =Tomaco=. In the Bay of =Panama=. Arrivals of numerous parties of Buccaneers across the =Isthmus= from the =West Indies=._ Caldera Bay 150 Volcan Viejo 151 Ria-lexa Harbour _ib._ Bay of Amapalla 152 Davis and Eaton part company 154 Tornadoes near the Coast of New Spain 155 Cape San Francisco _ib._ Eaton's Description of Cocos Island _ib._ Point S^{ta} Elena 156 Algatrane, a bituminous Earth _ib._ Rich Ship wrecked on Point S^{ta} Elena 157 Manta; Rocks near it, and Shoal _ib._ Davis is joined by other Buccaneers _ib._ The Cygnet, Captain Swan _ib._ At Isle de la Plata 159 Cape Blanco, near Guayaquil; difficult to weather _ib._ Payta burnt 160 Part of the Peruvian Coast where it never rains _ib._ Lobos de Tierra, and Lobos de la Mar _ib._ Eaton at the Ladrones 161 Nutmeg Island, North of Luconia 163 Davis on the Coast of Peru _ib._ Slave Ships captured _ib._ The Harbour of Guayaquil 164 Island S^{ta} Clara: Shoals near it 164 Cat Fish 165 The Cotton Tree and Cabbage Tree 166 River of St. Jago _ib._ Island Gallo; River Tomaco 167 Island Gorgona _ib._ Pearl Oysters 168 Galera Isle _ib._ The Pearl Islands 169 Arrival of fresh bodies of Buccaneers from the West Indies 170 Grogniet and L'Escuyer _ib._ Townley and his Crew 171 Pisco Wine 172 Port de Pinas; Taboga 173 Chepo 174 CHAP. XV. _=Edward Davis= Commander. Meeting of the Spanish and Buccaneer Fleets in the =Bay of Panama=. They separate without fighting. The Buccaneers sail to the Island =Quibo=. The English and French separate. Expedition against the City of =Leon=. That City and =Ria Lexa= burnt. Farther dispersion of the Buccaneers._ The Lima Fleet arrives at Panama 176 Meeting of the two Fleets 177 They separate 180 Keys of Quibo: The Island Quibo 181 Rock near the Anchorage _ib._ Serpents; The Serpent Berry 182 Disagreements among the Buccaneers _ib._ The French separate from the English 183 Knight, a Buccaneer, joins Davis _ib._ Expedition against the City of Leon 184 Leon burnt by the Buccaneers 186 Town of Ria Lexa burnt 187 Farther Separation of the Buccaneers _ib._ CHAP. XVI. _Buccaneers under =Edward Davis=. At =Amapalla= Bay; =Cocos Island=; The =Galapagos= Islands; Coast of =Peru=. Peruvian Wine. =Knight= quits the =South Sea=. Bezoar Stones. Marine Productions on Mountains. =Vermejo=. =Davis= joins the French Buccaneers at =Guayaquil=. Long Sea Engagement._ Amapalla Bay 188 A hot River _ib._ Cocos Island 189 Effect of Excess in drinking the Milk of the Cocoa-nut 190 At the Galapagos Islands _ib._ On the Coast of Peru 191 Peruvian Wine like Madeira _ib._ At Juan Fernandez 192 Knight quits the South Sea _ib._ Davis returns to the Coast of Peru _ib._ Bezoar Stones 193 Marine Productions found on Mountains; Vermejo _ib._ Davis joins the French Buccaneers at Guayaquil 195 They meet Spanish Ships of War 196 A Sea Engagement of seven days _ib._ At the Island de la Plata 198 Division of Plunder 199 They separate, to return home by different Routes 200 CHAP. XVII. _=Edward Davis=; his Third visit to the =Galapagos=. One of those Islands, named =Santa Maria de l'Aguada= by the Spaniards, a Careening Place of the Buccaneers. Sailing thence Southward they discover Land. Question, whether Edward Davis's Discovery is the Land which was afterwards named =Easter Island=? =Davis= and his Crew arrive in the =West Indies=._ Davis sails to the Galapagos Islands 201 King James's Island 202 The Island S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada 203 Davis sails from the Galapagos to the Southward 205 Island discovered by Edward Davis 206 Question whether Edward Davis's Land and Easter Island are the same Land 207 At the Island Juan Fernandez 210 Davis sails to the West Indies 211 CHAP. XVIII. _Adventures of =Swan= and =Townley= on the Coast of =New Spain=, until their Separation._ Bad Water, and unhealthiness of Ria Lexa 213 Island Tangola 214 Guatulco; El Buffadore 215 Vinello, or Vanilla, a Plant 216 Island Sacrificio _ib._ Port de Angeles _ib._ Adventure in a Lagune 217 Alcatraz Rock; White Cliffs 218 River to the West of the Cliffs _ib._ Snook, a Fish _ib._ High Land of Acapulco 219 Sandy Beach, West of Acapulco _ib._ Hill of Petaplan 220 Chequetan _ib._ Estapa _ib._ Hill of Thelupan 221 Volcano and Valley of Colima _ib._ Salagua 222 Report of a great City named Oarrah _ib._ Coronada Hills 223 Cape Corrientes _ib._ Keys or Islands of Chametly form a convenient Port _ib._ Bay and Valley de Vanderas 225 Swan and Townley part company 226 CHAP. XIX. _The =Cygnet= and her Crew on the Coast of =Nueva Galicia=, and at the =Tres Marias Islands=._ Coast of Nueva Galicia 227 Point Ponteque _ib._ White Rock, 21° 51' N 228 Chametlan Isles, 23° 11' N _ib._ The Penguin Fruit _ib._ Rio de Sal, and Salt-water Lagune _ib._ The Mexican, a copious Language 229 Mazatlan _ib._ Rosario, an Indian Town; River Rosario; Sugar-loaf Hill; Caput Cavalli; Maxentelbo Rock; Hill of Xalisco 230 River of Santiago 230 Town of S^{ta} Pecaque 231 Buccaneers defeated and slain by the Spaniards 233 At the Tres Marias 234 A Root used as Food 235 A Dropsy cured by a Sand Bath _ib._ Bay of Vanderas 236 CHAP. XX. _The =Cygnet=. Her Passage across the =Pacific Ocean=. At the =Ladrones=. At =Mindanao=._ The Cygnet quits the American Coast 237 Large flight of Birds _ib._ Shoals and Breakers near Guahan _ib._ Bank de Santa Rosa 238 At Guahan _ib._ Flying Proe, or Sailing Canoe 239 Bread Fruit 241 Eastern side of Mindanao, and the Island St. John 241 Sarangan and Candigar 243 Harbour or Sound on the South Coast of Mindanao _ib._ River of Mindanao 244 City of Mindanao _ib._ CHAP. XXI. _The =Cygnet= departs from =Mindanao=. At the =Ponghou Isles=. At the =Five Islands=. =Dampier's= Account of the =Five Islands=. They are named the =Bashee Islands=._ South Coast of Mindanao 249 Among the Philippine Islands _ib._ Pulo Condore _ib._ In the China Seas 250 Ponghou Isles 250 The Five Islands _ib._ Dampier's Description of them 250-256 CHAP. XXII. _The =Cygnet=. At the =Philippines=, =Celebes=, and =Timor=. On the Coast of =New Holland=. End of the =Cygnet=._ Island near the SE end of Mindanao 257 Candigar, a convenient Cove there _ib._ Low Island and Shoal, SbW from the West end of Timor 258 NW Coast of New Holland _ib._ Bay on the Coast of New Holland 258 Natives 259 An Island in Latitude 10° 20' S 261 End of the Cygnet _ib._ CHAP. XXIII. _French Buccaneers =under François Grogniet= and =Le Picard=, to the Death of =Grogniet=._ Point de Burica; Chiriquita 263 Unsuccessful attempt at Pueblo Nuevo 265 Grogniet is joined by Townley _ib._ Expedition against the City of Granada 266 At Ria Lexa 269 Grogniet and Townley part company _ib._ Buccaneers under Townley _ib._ Lavelia taken, and set on fire 270 Battle with Spanish armed Ships 274 Death of Townley 277 Grogniet rejoins company 278 They divide, meet again, and reunite 279 Attack on Guayaquil 280 At the Island Puna 282 Grogniet dies _ib._ Edward Davis joins Le Picard 283 CHAP. XXIV. _Retreat of the =French Buccaneers= across =New Spain= to the =West Indies=. All the =Buccaneers= quit the =South Sea=._ In Amapalla Bay 286 Chiloteca; Massacre of Prisoners _ib._ The Buccaneers burn their Vessels 287 They begin their march over land 288 Town of New Segovia 289 Rio de Yare, or Cape River 291 La Pava; Straiton; Le Sage 294 Small Crew of Buccaneers at the Tres Marias. Their Adventures 295 Story related by Le Sieur Froger _ib._ Buccaneers who lived three years on the Island Juan Fernandez 296 CHAP. XXV. _Steps taken towards reducing the =Buccaneers= and =Flibustiers= under subordination to the regular Governments. War of the Grand Alliance against =France=. Neutrality of the =Island St. Christopher= broken._ Reform attempted in the West Indies 298 Campeachy burnt _ib._ Danish Factory robbed 300 The English driven from St. Christopher 301 The English retake St. Christopher 302 CHAP. XXVI. _Siege and Plunder of the City of =Carthagena= on the =Terra Firma=, by an Armament from =France= in conjunction with the =Flibustiers= of =Saint Domingo=._ Armament under M. de Pointis 303 His Character of the Buccaneers 304 Siege of Carthagena by the French 307 The City capitulates 309 Value of the Plunder 313 CHAP. XXVII. _Second Plunder of =Carthagena=. Peace of =Ryswick=, in 1697. Entire Suppression of the =Buccaneers= and =Flibustiers=._ The Buccaneers return to Carthagena 316 Meet an English and Dutch Squadron 319 Peace of Ryswick 320 Causes which led to the Suppression of the Buccaneers _ib._ Providence Island 322 CONCLUSION 323 HISTORY OF THE BUCCANEERS OF AMERICA. CHAPTER I. _Considerations on the Rights acquired by the Discovery of Unknown Lands, and on the Claims advanced by the =Spaniards=._ The accounts given by the Buccaneers who extended their enterprises to the _Pacific Ocean_, are the best authenticated of any which have been published by that class of Adventurers. They are interspersed with nautical and geographical descriptions, corroborative of the events related, and more worth being preserved than the memory of what was performed. The materials for this portion of Buccaneer history, which it was necessary should be included in a History of South Sea Navigations, could not be collected without bringing other parts into view; whence it appeared, that with a moderate increase of labour, and without much enlarging the bulk of narrative, a regular history might be formed of their career, from their first rise, to their suppression; and that such a work would not be without its use. No practice is more common in literature, than for an author to endeavour to clear the ground before him, by mowing down the labours of his predecessors on the same subject. To do this, where the labour they have bestowed is of good tendency, or even to treat with harshness the commission of error where no bad intention is manifest, is in no small degree illiberal. But all the Buccaneer histories that hitherto have appeared, and the number is not small, are boastful compositions, which have delighted in exaggeration: and, what is most mischievous, they have lavished commendation on acts which demanded reprobation, and have endeavoured to raise miscreants, notorious for their want of humanity, to the rank of heroes, lessening thereby the stain upon robbery, and the abhorrence naturally conceived against cruelty. There is some excuse for the Buccaneer, who tells his own story. Vanity, and his prejudices, without any intention to deceive, lead him to magnify his own exploits; and the reader naturally makes allowances. The men whose enterprises are to be related, were natives of different European nations, but chiefly of _Great Britain_ and _France_, and most of them seafaring people, who being disappointed, by accidents or the enmity of the Spaniards, in their more sober pursuits in the _West Indies_, and also instigated by thirst for plunder as much as by desire for vengeance, embodied themselves, under different leaders of their own choosing, to make predatory war upon the Spaniards. These men the Spaniards naturally treated as pirates; but some peculiar circumstances which provoked their first enterprises, and a general feeling of enmity against that nation on account of their American conquests, procured them the connivance of the rest of the maritime states of _Europe_, and to be distinguished first by the softened appellations of Freebooters and Adventurers, and afterwards by that of Buccaneers. _Spain_, or, more strictly speaking, _Castile_, on the merit of a first discovery, claimed an exclusive right to the possession of the whole of _America_, with the exception of the _Brasils_, which were conceded to the Portuguese. These claims, and this division, the Pope sanctioned by an instrument, entitled a Bull of Donation, which was granted at a time when all the maritime powers of _Europe_ were under the spiritual dominion of the See of _Rome_. The Spaniards, however, did not flatter themselves that they should be left in the sole and undisputed enjoyment of so large a portion of the newly-discovered countries; but they were principally anxious to preserve wholly to themselves the _West Indies_: and, such was the monopolising spirit of the Castilians, that during the life of the Queen Ysabel of _Castile_, who was regarded as the patroness of Columbus's discovery, it was difficult even for Spaniards, not subjects born of the crown of _Castile_, to gain access to this _New World_, prohibitions being repeatedly published against the admission of all other persons into the ships bound thither. Ferdinand, King of _Arragon_, the husband of Ysabel, had refused to contribute towards the outfit of Columbus's first voyage, having no opinion of the probability that it would produce him an adequate return; and the undertaking being at the expence of _Castile_, the countries discovered were considered as appendages to the crown of _Castile_. If such jealousy was entertained by the Spaniards of each other, what must not have been their feelings respecting other European nations? 'Whoever,' says Hakluyt, 'is conversant with the Portugal and Spanish writers, shall find that they account all other nations for pirates, rovers, and thieves, which visit any heathen coast that they have sailed by or looked on.' _Spain_ considered the _New World_ as what in our law books is called Treasure-trove, of which she became lawfully and exclusively entitled to take possession, as fully as if it had been found without any owner or proprietor. _Spain_ has not been singular in her maxims respecting the rights of discoverers. Our books of Voyages abound in instances of the same disregard shewn to the rights of the native inhabitants, the only rightful proprietors, by the navigators of other European nations, who, with a solemnity due only to offices of a religious nature, have continually put in practice the form of taking possession of Countries which to them were new discoveries, their being inhabited or desert making no difference. Not unfrequently has the ceremony been performed in the presence, but not within the understanding, of the wondering natives; and on this formality is grounded a claim to usurp the actual possession, in preference to other Europeans. Nothing can be more opposed to common sense, than that strangers should pretend to acquire by discovery, a title to countries they find with inhabitants; as if in those very inhabitants the right of prior discovery was not inherent. On some occasions, however, Europeans have thought it expedient to acknowledge the rights of the natives, as when, in disputing each other's claims, a title by gift from the natives has been pretended. In uninhabited lands, a right of occupancy results from the discovery; but actual and _bonâ fide_ possession is requisite to perfect appropriation. If real possession be not taken, or if taken shall not be retained, the right acquired by the mere discovery is not indefinite and a perpetual bar of exclusion to all others; for that would amount to discovery giving a right equivalent to annihilation. Moveable effects may be hoarded and kept out of use, or be destroyed, and it will not always be easy to prove whether with injury or benefit to mankind: but the necessities of human life will not admit, unless under the strong hand of power, that a right should be pretended to keep extensive and fertile countries waste and secluded from their use, without other reason than the will of a proprietor or claimant. Particular local circumstances have created objections to the occupancy of territory: for instance, between the confines of the Russian and Chinese Empires, large tracts of country are left waste, it being held, that their being occupied by the subjects of either Empire would affect the security of the other. Several similar instances might be mentioned. There is in many cases difficulty to settle what constitutes occupancy. On a small Island, any first settlement is acknowledged an occupancy of the whole; and sometimes, the occupancy of a single Island of a group is supposed to comprehend an exclusive title to the possession of the remainder of the group. In the _West Indies_, the Spaniards regarded their making settlements on a few Islands, to be an actual taking possession of the whole, as far as European pretensions were concerned. The first discovery of Columbus set in activity the curiosity and speculative dispositions of all the European maritime Powers. King Henry the VIIth, of _England_, as soon as he was certified of the existence of countries in the Western hemisphere, sent ships thither, whereby _Newfoundland_, and parts of the continent of _North America_, were first discovered. _South America_ was also visited very early, both by the English and the French; 'which nations,' the Historian of _Brasil_ remarks, 'had neglected to ask a share of the undiscovered World, when Pope Alexander the VIth partitioned it, who would as willingly have drawn two lines as one; and, because they derived no advantage from that partition, refused to admit its validity.' The _West Indies_, however, which doubtless was the part most coveted by all, seem to have been considered as more particularly the discovery and right of the Spaniards; and, either from respect to their pretensions, or from the opinion entertained of their force in those parts, they remained many years undisturbed by intruders in the _West Indian Seas_. But their homeward-bound ships, and also those of the Portuguese from the _East Indies_, did not escape being molested by pirates; sometimes by those of their own, as well as of other nations. CHAP. II. _Review of the Dominion of the =Spaniards= in =Hayti= or =Hispaniola=._ [Sidenote: 1492-3. Hayti, or Hispaniola, the first Settlement of the Spaniards in America.] The first settlement formed by the Castilians in their newly discovered world, was on the Island by the native inhabitants named _Hayti_; but to which the Spaniards gave the name of _Española_ or _Hispaniola_. And in process of time it came to pass, that this same Island became the great place of resort, and nursery, of the European adventurers, who have been so conspicuous under the denomination of the Buccaneers of _America_. The native inhabitants found in _Hayti_, have been described a people of gentle, compassionate dispositions, of too frail a constitution, both of body and mind, either to resist oppression, or to support themselves under its weight; and to the indolence, luxury, and avarice of the discoverers, their freedom and happiness in the first instance, and finally their existence, fell a sacrifice. Queen Ysabel, the patroness of the discovery, believed it her duty, and was earnestly disposed, to be their protectress; but she wanted resolution to second her inclination. The Island abounded in gold mines. The natives were tasked to work them, heavier and heavier by degrees; and it was the great misfortune of Columbus, after achieving an enterprise, the glory of which was not exceeded by any action of his contemporaries, to make an ungrateful use of the success Heaven had favoured him with, and to be the foremost in the destruction of the nations his discovery first made known to _Europe_. [Sidenote: Review of the Dominion of the Spaniards in Hispaniola.] The population of _Hayti_, according to the lowest estimation made, amounted to a million of souls. The first visit of Columbus was passed in a continual reciprocation of kind offices between them and the Spaniards. One of the Spanish ships was wrecked upon the coast, and the natives gave every assistance in their power towards saving the crew, and their effects to them. When Columbus departed to return to _Europe_, he left behind him thirty-eight Spaniards, with the consent of the Chief or Sovereign of the part of the Island where he had been so hospitably received. He had erected a fort for their security, and the declared purpose of their remaining was to protect the Chief against all his enemies. Several of the native Islanders voluntarily embarked in the ships to go to _Spain_, among whom was a relation of the _Hayti_ Chief; and with them were taken gold, and various samples of the productions of the _New World_. Columbus, on his return, was received by the Court of _Spain_ with the honours due to his heroic achievement, indeed with honours little short of adoration: he was declared Admiral, Governor, and Viceroy of the Countries that he had discovered, and also of those which he should afterwards discover; he was ordered to assume the style and title of nobility; and was furnished with a larger fleet to prosecute farther the discovery, and to make conquest of the new lands. The Instructions for his second expedition contained the following direction: 'Forasmuch as you, Christopher Columbus, are going by our command, with our vessels and our men, to discover and subdue certain Islands and Continent, our will is, that you shall be our Admiral, Viceroy, and Governor in them.' This was the first step in the iniquitous usurpations which the more cultivated nations of the world have practised upon their weaker brethren, the natives of _America_. [Sidenote: 1493. Government of Columbus.] Thus provided and instructed, Columbus sailed on his second voyage. On arriving at _Hayti_, the first news he learnt was, that the natives had demolished the fort which he had built, and destroyed the garrison, who, it appeared, had given great provocation, by their rapacity and licentious conduct. War did not immediately follow. Columbus accepted presents of gold from the Chief; he landed a number of colonists, and built a town on the North side of _Hayti_, which he named after the patroness, _Ysabel_, and fortified. [Sidenote: 1494.] A second fort was soon built; new Spaniards arrived; and the natives began to understand that it was the intention of their visitors to stay, and be lords of the country. The Chiefs held meetings, to confer on the means to rid themselves of such unwelcome guests, and there was appearance of preparation making to that end. The Spaniards had as yet no farther asserted dominion, than in taking land for their town and forts, and helping themselves to provisions when the natives neglected to bring supplies voluntarily. The histories of these transactions affect a tone of apprehension on account of the extreme danger in which the Spaniards were, from the multitude of the heathen inhabitants; but all the facts shew that they perfectly understood the helpless character of the natives. A Spanish officer, named Pedro Margarit, was blamed, not altogether reasonably, for disorderly conduct to the natives, which happened in the following manner. He was ordered, with a large body of troops, to make a progress through the Island in different parts, and was strictly enjoined to restrain his men from committing any violence against the natives, or from giving them any cause for complaint. But the troops were sent on their journey without provisions, and the natives were not disposed to furnish them. The troops recurred to violence, which they did not limit to the obtaining food. If Columbus could spare a detachment strong enough to make such a visitation through the land, he could have entertained no doubt of his ability to subdue it. But before he risked engaging in open war with the natives, he thought it prudent to weaken their means of resisting by what he called stratagem. _Hayti_ was divided into five provinces, or small kingdoms, under the separate dominion of as many Princes or Caciques. One of these, Coanabo, the Cacique of _Maguana_, Columbus believed to be more resolute, and more dangerous to his purpose, than any other of the chiefs. To Coanabo, therefore, he sent an Officer, to propose an accommodation on terms which appeared so reasonable, that the Indian Chief assented to them. Afterwards, relying on the good faith of the Spaniards, not, as some authors have meanly represented, through credulous and childish simplicity, but with the natural confidence which generally prevails, and which ought to prevail, among mankind in their mutual engagements, he gave opportunity for Columbus to get possession of his person, who caused him to be seized, and embarked in a ship then ready to sail for _Spain_. The ship foundered in the passage. [Sidenote: 1495.] The story of Coanabo, and the contempt with which he treated Columbus for his treachery, form one of the most striking circumstances in the history of the perfidious dealings of the Spaniards in _America_. [Sidenote: Dogs used in Battle against the Indians.] On the seizure of this Chief, the Islanders rose in arms. Columbus took the field with two hundred foot armed with musketry and cross-bows, with twenty troopers mounted on horses, and with twenty large dogs[1]! It is not to be urged in exculpation of the Spaniards, that the natives were the aggressors, by their killing the garrison left at _Hayti_. Columbus had terminated his first visit in friendship; and, without the knowledge that any breach had happened between the Spaniards left behind, and the natives, sentence of subjugation had been pronounced against them. This was not to avenge injury, for the Spaniards knew not of any committed. Columbus was commissioned to execute this sentence, and for that end, besides a force of armed men, he took with him from _Spain_ a number of blood-hounds, to prosecute a most unrighteous purpose by the most inhuman means. Many things are justifiable in defence, which in offensive war are regarded by the generality of mankind with detestation. All are agreed in the use of dogs, as faithful guards to our persons as well as to our dwellings; but to hunt men with dogs seems to have been till then unheard of, and is nothing less offensive to humanity than cannibalism or feasting on our enemies. Neither jagged shot, poisoned darts, springing of mines, nor any species of destruction, can be objected to, if this is allowed in honourable war, or admitted not to be a disgraceful practice in any war. It was scarcely possible for the Indians, or indeed for any people naked and undisciplined, however numerous, to stand their ground against a force so calculated to excite dread. The Islanders were naturally a timid people, and they regarded fire-arms as engines of more than mortal contrivance. Don Ferdinand, the son of Columbus, who wrote a History of his father's actions, relates an instance, which happened before the war, of above 400 Indians running away from a single Spanish horseman. [Sidenote: Massacre of the Natives, and Subjugation of the Island.] So little was attack, or valiant opposition, apprehended from the natives, that Columbus divided his force into several squadrons, to charge them at different points. 'These faint-hearted creatures,' says Don Ferdinand, 'fled at the first onset; and our men, pursuing and killing them, made such havock, that in a short time they obtained a complete victory.' The policy adopted by Columbus was, to confirm the natives in their dread of European arms, by a terrible execution. The victors, both dogs and men, used their ascendancy like furies. The dogs flew at the throats of the Indians, and strangled or tore them in pieces; whilst the Spaniards, with the eagerness of hunters, pursued and mowed down the unresisting fugitives. Some thousands of the Islanders were slaughtered, and those taken prisoners were consigned to servitude. If the fact were not extant, it would not be conceivable that any one could be so blind to the infamy of such a proceeding, as to extol the courage of the Spaniards on this occasion, instead of execrating their cruelty. Three hundred of the natives were shipped for _Spain_ as slaves, and the whole Island, with the exception of a small part towards the Western coast, which has since been named the _Cul de Sac_, was subdued. [Sidenote: Tribute imposed.] Columbus made a leisurely progress through the Island, which occupied him nine or ten months, and imposed a tribute generally upon all the natives above the age of fourteen, requiring each of them to pay quarterly a certain quantity of gold, or 25 lbs. of cotton. Those natives who were discovered to have been active against the Spaniards, were taxed higher. To prevent evasion, rings or tokens, to be produced in the nature of receipts, were given to the Islanders on their paying the tribute, and any Islander found without such a mark in his possession, was deemed not to have paid, and proceeded against. Queen Ysabel shewed her disapprobation of Columbus's proceedings, by liberating and sending back the captive Islanders to their own country; and she moreover added her positive commands, that none of the natives should be made slaves. This order was accompanied with others intended for their protection; but the Spanish Colonists, following the example of their Governor, contrived means to evade them. In the mean time, the Islanders could not furnish the tribute, and Columbus was rigorous in the collection. It is said in palliation, that he was embarrassed in consequence of the magnificent descriptions he had given to Ferdinand and Ysabel, of the riches of _Hispaniola_, by which he had taught them to expect much; and that the fear of disappointing them and losing their favour, prompted him to act more oppressively to the Indians than his disposition otherwise inclined him to do. Distresses of this kind press upon all men; but only in very ordinary minds do they outweigh solemn considerations. Setting aside the dictates of religion and moral duty, as doubtless was done, and looking only to worldly advantages, if Columbus had properly estimated his situation, he would have been resolute not to descend from the eminence he had attained. The dilemma in which he was placed, was simply, whether he would risk some diminution of the favour he was in at Court, by being the protector of these Islanders, who, by circumstances peculiarly calculated to engage his interest, were entitled in an especial manner to have been regarded as his clients; or, to preserve that favour, would oppress them to their destruction, and to the ruin of his own fame. [Sidenote: Despair of the Natives.] The Islanders, finding their inability to oppose the invaders, took the desperate resolution to desist from the cultivation of their lands, to abandon their houses, and to withdraw themselves to the mountains; hoping thereby that want of subsistence would force their oppressors to quit the Island. The Spaniards had many resources; the sea-coast supplied them with fish, and their vessels brought provisions from other islands. As to the natives of _Hayti_, one third part of them, it is said, perished in the course of a few months, by famine and by suicide. The rest returned to their dwellings, and submitted. All these events took place within three years after the discovery; so active is rapacity. Some among the Spaniards (authors of that time say, the enemies of Columbus, as if sentiments of humanity were not capable of such an effort) wrote Memorials to their Catholic Majesties, representing the disastrous condition to which the natives were reduced. [Sidenote: 1496.] Commissioners were sent to examine into the fact, and Columbus found it necessary to go to _Spain_ to defend his administration. So great was the veneration and respect entertained for him, that on his arrival at Court, accusation was not allowed to be produced against him: and, without instituting enquiry, it was arranged, that he should return to his government with a large reinforcement of Spaniards, and with authority to grant lands to whomsoever he chose to think capable of cultivating them. Various accidents delayed his departure from _Spain_ on his third voyage, till 1498. [Sidenote: City of Nueva Ysabel founded, 1496.] He had left two of his brothers to govern in _Hispaniola_ during his absence; the eldest, Bartolomé, with the title of Adelantado; in whose time (A. D. 1496) was traced, on the South side of the Island, the plan of a new town intended for the capital, the land in the neighbourhood of the town of _Ysabel_, before built, being poor and little productive. [Sidenote: Its name changed to Santo Domingo.] The name first given to the new town was _Nueva Ysabel_; this in a short time gave place to that of _Santo Domingo_, a name which was not imposed by authority, but adopted and became in time established by common usage, of which the original cause is not now known[2]. Under the Adelantado's government, the parts of the Island which till then had held out in their refusal to receive the Spanish yoke, were reduced to subjection; and the conqueror gratified his vanity with the public execution of one of the Hayti Kings. Columbus whilst he was in _Spain_ received mortification in two instances, of neither of which he had any right to complain. In October 1496, three hundred natives of _Hayti_ (made prisoners by the Adelantado) were landed at _Cadiz_, being sent to _Spain_ as slaves. At this act of disobedience, the King and Queen strongly expressed their displeasure, and said, if the Islanders made war against the Castilians, they must have been constrained to do it by hard treatment. Columbus thought proper to blame, and to disavow what his brother had done. The other instance of his receiving mortification, was an act of kindness done him, and so intended; and it was the only shadow of any thing like reproof offered to him. In the instructions which he now received, it was earnestly recommended to him to prefer conciliation to severity on all occasions which would admit it without prejudice to justice or to his honour. [Sidenote: 1498.] It was in the third voyage of Columbus that he first saw the Continent of _South America_, in August 1498, which he then took to be an Island, and named _Isla Santa_. He arrived on the 22d of the same month at the City of _San Domingo_. The short remainder of Columbus's government in _Hayti_ was occupied with disputes among the Spaniards themselves. A strong party was in a state of revolt against the government of the Columbuses, and accommodation was kept at a distance, by neither party daring to place trust in the other. [Sidenote: 1498-9.] Columbus would have had recourse to arms to recover his authority, but some of his troops deserted to the disaffected, and others refused to be employed against their countrymen. In this state, the parties engaged in a treaty on some points, and each sent Memorials to the Court. The Admiral in his dispatches represented, that necessity had made him consent to certain conditions, to avoid endangering the Colony; but that it would be highly prejudicial to the interests of their Majesties to ratify the treaty he had been forced to subscribe. [Sidenote: Beginning of the Repartimientos.] The Admiral now made grants of lands to Spanish colonists, and accompanied them with requisitions to the neighbouring Caciques, to furnish the new proprietors with labourers to cultivate the soil. This was the beginning of the _Repartimientos_, or distributions of the Indians, which confirmed them slaves, and contributed, more than all former oppressions, to their extermination. Notwithstanding the earnest and express order of the King and Queen to the contrary, the practice of transporting the natives of _Hayti_ to _Spain_ as slaves, was connived at and continued; and this being discovered, lost Columbus the confidence, but not wholly the support, of Queen Ysabel. [Sidenote: 1500. Government of Bovadilla.] The dissensions in the Colony increased, as did the unpopularity of the Admiral; and in the year 1500, a new Governor General of the _Indies_, Francisco de Bovadilla, was sent from _Spain_, with a commission empowering him to examine into the accusations against the Admiral; and he was particularly enjoined by the Queen, to declare all the native inhabitants free, and to take measures to secure to them that they should be treated as a free people. How a man so grossly ignorant and intemperate as Bovadilla, should have been chosen to an office of such high trust, is not a little extraordinary. His first display of authority was to send the Columbuses home prisoners, with the indignity to their persons of confining them in chains. He courted popularity in his government by shewing favour to all who had been disaffected to the government or measures of the Admiral and his brothers, the natives excepted, for whose relief he had been especially appointed Governor. To encourage the Spaniards to work the mines, he reduced the duties payable to the Crown on the produce, and trusted to an increase in the quantity of gold extracted, for preserving the revenue from diminution. [Sidenote: All the Natives compelled to work the Mines.] This was to be effected by increasing the labour of the natives; and that these miserable people might not evade their servitude, he caused muster-rolls to be made of all the inhabitants, divided them into classes, and made distribution of them according to the value of the mines, or to his desire to gratify particular persons. The Spanish Colonists believed that the same facilities to enrich themselves would not last long, and made all the haste in their power to profit by the present opportunity. By these means, Bovadilla drew from the mines in a few months so great a quantity of gold, that one fleet which he sent home, carried a freight more than sufficient to reimburse _Spain_ all the expences which had been incurred in the discovery and conquest. The procuring these riches was attended with so great a mortality among the natives as to threaten their utter extinction. Nothing could exceed the surprise and indignation of the Queen, on receiving information of these proceedings. The bad government of Bovadilla was a kind of palliation which had the effect of lessening the reproach upon the preceding government, and, joined to the disgraceful manner in which Columbus had been sent home, produced a revolution of sentiment in his favour. The good Queen Ysabel wished to compensate him for the hard treatment he had received, at the same time that she had the sincerity to make him understand she would not again commit the Indian natives to his care. All his other offices and dignities were restored to him. [Sidenote: 1501-2. Nicolas Ovando, Governor.] For a successor to Bovadilla in the office of Governor General, Don Nicolas Ovando, a Cavalero of the Order of _Alcantara_, was chosen; a man esteemed capable and just, and who entered on his government with apparent mildness and consideration. But in a short time he proved the most execrable of all the tyrants, 'as if,' says an historian, 'tyranny was inherent and contagious in the office, so as to change good men to bad, for the destruction of these unfortunate Indians.' [Sidenote: Working the Mines discontinued by Orders from Spain.] In obedience to his instructions, Ovando, on arriving at his government, called a General Assembly of all the Caciques or principal persons among the natives, to whom he declared, that their Catholic Majesties took the Islanders under their royal protection; that no exaction should be made on them, other than the tribute which had been heretofore imposed; and that no person should be employed to work in the mines, except on the footing of voluntary labourers for wages. [Sidenote: 1502.] On the promulgation of the royal pleasure, all working in the mines immediately ceased. The impression made by their past sufferings was too strong for any offer of pay or reward to prevail on them to continue in that work. [The same thing happened, many years afterwards, between the Chilese and the Spaniards.] A few mines had been allowed to remain in possession of some of the Caciques of _Hayti_, on the condition of rendering up half the produce; but now, instead of working them, they sold their implements. In consequence of this defection, it was judged expedient to lower the royal duties on the produce of the mines, which produced some effect. Ovando, however, was intent on procuring the mines to be worked as heretofore, but proceeded with caution. In his dispatches to the Council of the _Indies_, he represented in strong colours the natural levity and inconstancy of the Indians, and their idle and disorderly manner of living; on which account, he said, it would be for their improvement and benefit to find them occupation in moderate labour; that there would be no injustice in so doing, as they would receive wages for their work, and they would thereby be enabled to pay the tribute, which otherwise, from their habitual idleness, many would not be able to satisfy. He added moreover, that the Indians, being left entirely their own masters, kept at a distance from the Spanish habitations, which rendered it impossible to instruct them in the principles of Christianity. This reasoning, and the proposal to furnish the natives with employment, were approved by the Council of the _Indies_; and the Court, from the opinion entertained of the justice and moderation of Ovando, acquiesced so far as to trust making the experiment to his discretion. In reply to his representations, he received instructions recommending, 'That if it was necessary to oblige the Indians to work, it should be done in the most gentle and moderate manner; that the Caciques should be invited to send their people in regular turns; and that the employers should treat them well, and pay them wages, according to the quality of the person and nature of the labour; that care should be taken for their regular attendance at religious service and instruction; and that it should be remembered they were a free people, to be governed with mildness, and on no account to be treated as slaves.' [Sidenote: 1502-3. The Natives again forced to the Mines.] These directions, notwithstanding the expressions of care for the natives contained in them, released the Governor General from all restriction. This man had recently been appointed Grand Master of the order of _Calatrava_, and thenceforward he was most generally distinguished by the appellation or title of the Grand Commander. A transaction of a shocking nature, which took place during Bovadilla's government, caused an insurrection of the natives; but which did not break out till after the removal of Bovadilla. A Spanish vessel had put into a port of the province of _Higuey_ (the most Eastern part of _Hayti_) to procure a lading of _cassava_, a root which is used as bread. The Spaniards landed, having with them a large dog held by a cord. Whilst the natives were helping them to what they wanted, one of the Spaniards in wanton insolence pointed to a Cacique, and called to the dog in manner of setting him on. The Spaniard who held the cord, it is doubtful whether purposely or by accident, suffered it to slip out of his hand, and the dog instantly tore out the unfortunate Cacique's entrails. The people of _Higuey_ sent a deputation, to complain to Bovadilla; but those who went could not obtain attention. [Sidenote: Severities shewn to the people of Higuey.] In the beginning of Ovando's government, some other Spaniards landed at the same port of _Higuey_, and the natives, in revenge for what had happened, fell upon them, and killed them; after which they took to arms. This insurrection was quelled with so great a slaughter, that the province, from having been well peopled, was rendered almost a desert. [Sidenote: 1503. Encomiendas established.] Ovando, on obtaining his new instructions, followed the model set by his predecessors. He enrolled and classed the natives in divisions, called _Repartimientos_: from these he assigned to the Spanish proprietors a specified number of labourers, by grants, which, with most detestable hypocrisy, were denominated _Encomiendas_. The word _Encomienda_ signifies recommendation, and the employer to whom the Indian was consigned, was to have the reputation of being his patron. The _Encomienda_ was conceived in the following terms:--'_I recommend to =A. B.= such and such Indians =(listed by name)= the subjects of such Cacique; and he is to take care to have them instructed in the principles of our holy faith._' Under the enforcement of the _encomiendas_, the natives were again dragged to the mines; and many of these unfortunate wretches were kept by their hard employers under ground for six months together. With the labour, and grief at being again doomed to slavery, they sunk so rapidly, that it suggested to the murderous proprietors of the mines the having recourse to _Africa_ for slaves. [Sidenote: African Slaves carried to the West Indies.] Ovando, after small experience of this practice, endeavoured to oppose it as dangerous, the Africans frequently escaping from their masters, and finding concealment among the natives, in whom they excited some spirit of resistance. The ill use made by the Grand Commander of the powers with which he had been trusted, appears to have reached the Court early, for, in 1503, he received fresh orders, enjoining him not to allow, on any pretext, the natives to be employed in labour against their own will, either in the mines or elsewhere. Ovando, however, trusted to being supported by the Spanish proprietors of the mines within his government, who grew rich by the _encomiendas_, and with their assistance he found pretences for not restraining himself to the orders of the Court. In parts of the Island, the Caciques still enjoyed a degree of authority over the natives, which rested almost wholly on habitual custom and voluntary attachment. To loosen this band, Ovando, assuming the character of a protector, published ordonnances to release the lower classes from the oppressions of the Caciques; but from those of their European taskmasters he gave them no relief. Some of the principal among the native inhabitants of _Xaragua_, the South-western province of _Hayti_, had the hardiness openly to express their discontent at the tyranny exercised by the Spaniards established in that province. The person at this time regarded as Cacique or Chief of _Xaragua_ was a female, sister to the last Cacique, who had died without issue. The Spanish histories call her Queen of _Xaragua_. This Princess had shewn symptoms of something like abhorrence of the Spaniards near her, and they did not fail to send representations to the Grand Commander, with the addition, that there appeared indications of an intention in the Xaraguans to revolt. On receiving this notice, Ovando determined that _Xaragua_, as _Higuey_ had before, should feel the weight of his displeasure. Putting himself at the head of 370 Spanish troops, part of them cavalry, he departed from the city of _San Domingo_ for the devoted province, giving out publicly, that his intention was to make a progress into the West, to collect the tribute, and to visit the Queen of _Xaragua_. He was received by the Princess and her people with honours, feastings, and all the demonstrations of joy usually acted by terrified people with the hopes of soothing tyranny; and the troops were regaled with profusion of victuals, with dancing, and shows. [Sidenote: 1503-4.] After some days thus spent, Ovando invited the Princess, her friends and attendants, to an entertainment which he promised them, after the manner of _Spain_. A large open public building was the chosen place for holding this festival, and all the Spanish settlers in the province were required to attend. A great concourse of Indians, besides the bidden guests, crowded round, to enjoy the spectacle. [Sidenote: Massacre of the people of Xaragua.] As the appointed time approached, the Spanish infantry gradually appeared, and took possession of all the avenues; which being secured, this Grand Commander himself appeared, mounted at the head of his cavalry; and on his making a signal, which had been previously concerted, which was laying his hand on the Cross of his Order, the whole of these diabolical conquerors fell upon the defenceless multitude, who were so hemmed in, that thousands were slaughtered, and it was scarcely possible for any to escape unwounded. Some of the principal Indians or Caciques, it is said, were by the Commander's order fastened to the pillars of the building, where they were questioned, and made to confess themselves in a conspiracy against the Spanish government; after which confession the building was set on fire, and they perished in the flames. The massacre did not stop here. Detachments of troops, with dogs, were sent to hunt and destroy the natives in different parts of the province, and some were pursued over to the Island _Gonave_. The Princess was carried bound to the city of _San Domingo_, and with the forms of law was tried, condemned, and put to death. The purposes, besides that of gratifying his revenge for the hatred shewn to his government, which were sufficient to move Ovando to this bloody act, were, the plunder of the province, and the reduction of the Islanders to a more manageable number, and to the most unlimited submission. [Sidenote: 1504.] Some of the Indians fled to the mountains. 'But,' say the Spanish Chronicles of these events, 'in a short time their Chiefs were taken and punished, and at the end of six months there was not a native living on the Island who had not submitted to the dominion of the Spaniards.' [Sidenote: Death of Queen Ysabel.] Queen Ysabel died in November 1504, much and universally lamented. This Princess bore a large share in the usurpations practised in the New World; but it is evident she was carried away, contrary to her real principles and disposition, which were just and benevolent, and to her own happiness, by the powerful stream of general opinion. In _Europe_, political principles, or maxims of policy, have been in continual change, fashioned by the nature of the passing events, no less than dress has been by caprice; causes which have led one to deviate from plain rectitude, as the other from convenience. One principle, covetousness of the attainment of power, has nevertheless constantly predominated, and has derided and endeavoured to stigmatize as weakness and imbecility, the stopping short of great acquisitions, territorial especially, for moral considerations. Queen Ysabel lived surrounded by a world of such politicians, who were moreover stimulated to avarice by the prospect of American gold; a passion which yet more than ambition is apt to steel the heart of man against the calls of justice and the distresses of his fellow creatures. If Ysabel had been endued with more than mortal fortitude, she might have refused her sanction to the usurpations, but could not have prevented them. On her death bed she earnestly recommended to King Ferdinand to recall Ovando. Ovando, however, sent home much gold, and Ferdinand referred to a distant time the fulfilment of her dying request. Upon news of the death of Queen Ysabel, the small wages which had been paid the Indians for their labour, amounting to about half a piastre _per_ month, were withheld, as being too grievous a burthen on the Spanish Colonists; and the hours of labour were no longer limited. [Sidenote: 1506.] In the province of _Higuey_, the tyranny and licentiousness of the military again threw the poor natives into a frenzy of rage and despair, and they once more revolted, burnt the fort, and killed the soldiers. Ovando resolved to put it out of the power of the people of _Higuey_ ever again to be troublesome. A strong body of troops was marched into the province, the Cacique of _Higuey_ (the last of the _Hayti_ Kings) was taken prisoner and executed, and the province pacified. The pecuniary value of grants of land in _Hayti_ with _encomiendas_, became so considerable as to cause them to be coveted and solicited for by many of the grandees and favourites of the Court in _Spain_, who, on obtaining them, sent out agents to turn them to account. [Sidenote: Desperate condition of the Natives.] The agent was to make his own fortune by his employment, and to satisfy his principal. In no instance were the natives spared through any interference of the Grand Commander. It was a maxim with this bad man, always to keep well with the powerful; and every thing respecting the natives was yielded to their accommodation. Care, however, was taken that the Indians should be baptised, and that a head tax should be paid to the Crown; and these particulars being complied with, the rest was left to the patron of the _encomienda_. Punishments and tortures of every kind were practised, to wring labour out of men who were dying through despair. Some of the accounts, which are corroborated by circumstances, relate, that the natives were frequently coupled and harnessed like cattle, and driven with whips. If they fell under their load, they were flogged up. To prevent their taking refuge in the woods or mountains, an officer, under the title of _Alguazil del Campo_, was constantly on the watch with a pack of hounds; and many Indians, in endeavouring to escape, were torn in pieces. The settlers on the Island, the great men at home, their agents, and the royal revenue, were all to be enriched at the expence of the destruction of the natives. It was as if the discovery of _America_ had changed the religion of the Spaniards from Christianity to the worship of gold with human sacrifices. If power were entitled to dominion between man and man, as between man and other animals, the Spaniards would remain chargeable with the most outrageous abuse of their advantages. In enslaving the inhabitants of _Hayti_, if they had been satisfied with reducing them to the state of cattle, it would have been merciful, comparatively with what was done. The labour imposed by mankind upon their cattle, is in general so regulated as not to exceed what is compatible with their full enjoyment of health; but the main consideration with the Spanish proprietors was, by what means they should obtain the greatest quantity of gold from the labour of the natives in the shortest time. By an enumeration made in the year 1507, the number of the natives in the whole Island _Hayti_ was reckoned at 60,000, the remains of a population which fifteen years before exceeded a million. The insatiate colonists did not stop: many of the mines lay unproductive for want of labourers, and they bent their efforts to the supplying this defect. [Sidenote: The Grand Antilles.] The Islands of the _West Indies_ have been classed into three divisions, which chiefly regard their situations; but they are distinguished also by other peculiar circumstances. The four largest Islands, _Cuba_, _Hayti_, _Jamaica_, and _Porto Rico_, have been called the _Grand Antilles_. When first discovered by Europeans, they were inhabited by people whose similarity of language, of customs, and character, bespoke them the offspring of one common stock. [Sidenote: Small Antilles, or Caribbee Islands.] The second division is a chain of small Islands Eastward of these, and extending South to the coast of _Paria_ on the Continent of _South America_. They have been called sometimes the _Small Antilles_; sometimes after the native inhabitants, the _Caribbee Islands_; and not less frequently by a subdivision, the Windward and Leeward Islands. The inhabitants on these Islands were a different race from the inhabitants of the _Grand Antilles_. They spoke a different language, were robust in person; and in disposition fierce, active, and warlike. Some have conjectured them to be of Tartar extraction, which corresponds with the belief that they emigrated from _North America_ to the _West Indies_. It is supposed they drove out the original inhabitants from the _Small Antilles_, to establish themselves there; but they had not gained footing in the large Islands. [Sidenote: Lucayas, or Bahama Islands.] The third division of the Islands is the cluster which are situated to the North of _Cuba_, and near _East Florida_, and are called the _Lucayas_, of whose inhabitants mention will shortly be made. The Spanish Government participated largely in the wickedness practised to procure labourers for the mines of _Hispaniola_. Pretending great concern for the cause of humanity, they declared it legal, and gave general license, for any individual to make war against, and enslave, people who were cannibals; under which pretext every nation, both of the American Continent and of the Islands, was exposed to their enterprises. Spanish adventurers made attempts to take people from the small _Antilles_, sometimes with success; but they were not obtained without danger, and in several expeditions of the kind, the Spaniards were repulsed with loss. This made them turn their attention to the _Lucayas Islands_. [Sidenote: 1508.] The inhabitants of the _Lucayas_, an unsuspicious and credulous people, did not escape the snares laid for them. Ovando, in his dispatches to _Spain_, represented the benefit it would be to the holy faith, to have the inhabitants of the _Lucayas_ instructed in the Christian religion; for which purpose, he said, 'it would be necessary they should be transported to _Hispaniola_, as Missionaries could not be spared to every place, and there was no other way in which this abandoned people could be converted.' [Sidenote: The Natives of the Lucayas betrayed to the Mines;] King Ferdinand and the Council of the Indies were themselves so abandoned and destitute of all goodness, as to pretend to give credit to Ovando's representation, and lent him their authority to sacrifice the Lucayans, under the pretext of advancing religion. Spanish ships were sent to the Islands on this business, and the natives were at first inveigled on board by the foulest hypocrisy and treachery. Among the artifices used by the Spaniards, they pretended that they came from a delicious country, where rested the souls of the deceased fathers, kinsmen, and friends, of the Lucayans, who had sent to invite them. [Sidenote: and the Islands wholly unpeopled.] The innocent Islanders so seduced to follow the Spaniards, when, on arriving at _Hispaniola_, they found how much they had been abused, died in great numbers of chagrin and grief. Afterwards, when these impious pretences of the Spaniards were no longer believed, they dragged away the natives by force, as long as any could be found, till they wholly unpeopled the _Lucayas Islands_. The Buccaneers of _America_, whose adventures and misdeeds are about to be related, may be esteemed saints in comparison with the men whose names have been celebrated as the Conquerors of the NEW WORLD. In the same manner as at the _Lucayas_, other Islands of the _West Indies_, and different parts of the Continent, were resorted to for recruits. A pearl fishery was established, in which the Indians were not more spared as divers, than on the land as miners. _Porto Rico_ was conquered at this time. [Sidenote: Fate of the native Inhabitants of Porto Rico.] Ore had been brought thence, which was not so pure as that of _Hayti_; but it was of sufficient value to determine Ovando to the conquest of the Island. The Islanders were terrified by the carnage which the Spaniards with their dogs made in the commencement of the war, and, from the fear of irritating them by further resistance, they yielded wholly at discretion, and were immediately sent to the mines, where in a short time they all perished. In the same year with _Porto Rico_, the Island of _Jamaica_ was taken possession of by the Spaniards. [Sidenote: 1509. D. Diego Columbus, Governor of Hispaniola.] Ovando was at length recalled, and was succeeded in the government of _Hispaniola_ by Don Diego Columbus, the eldest son and inheritor of the rights and titles of the Admiral Christopher. To conclude with Ovando, it is related that he was regretted by his countrymen in the _Indies_, and was well received at Court. Don Diego did not make any alteration in the _repartimientos_, except that some of them changed hands in favour of his own adherents. During his government, some fathers of the Dominican Order had the courage to inveigh from the pulpit against the enormity of the _repartimientos_, and were so persevering in their representations, that the Court of _Spain_ found it necessary, to avoid scandal, to order an enquiry into the condition of the Indians. In this enquiry it was seriously disputed, whether it was just or unjust to make them slaves. [Sidenote: 1511. Increase of Cattle in Hayti.] The Histories of _Hispaniola_ first notice about this time a great increase in the number of cattle in the Island. As the human race disappeared, less and less land was occupied in husbandry, till almost the whole country became pasturage for cattle, by far the greater part of which were wild. An ordonnance, issued in the year 1511, specified, that as beasts of burthen were so much multiplied, the Indians should not be made to carry or drag heavy loads. [Sidenote: Cuba.] In 1511, the conquest of _Cuba_ was undertaken and completed. The terror conceived of the Spaniards is not to be expressed. The story of the conquest is related in a Spanish history in the following terms: 'A leader was chosen, who had acquitted himself in high employments with fortune and good conduct. He had in other respects amiable qualities, and was esteemed a man of honour and rectitude. He went from _S. Domingo_ with regular troops and above 300 volunteers. He landed in _Cuba_, not without opposition from the natives. In a few days, he surprised and took the principal Cacique, named Hatuey, prisoner, and _made him expiate in the flames the fault he had been guilty of in not submitting with a good grace to the conqueror_.' This Cacique, when at the stake, being importuned by a Spanish priest to become a Christian, that he might go to Heaven, replied, that if any Spaniard was to be met in Heaven, he hoped not to go there. [Sidenote: 1514.] The Reader will be detained a very little longer with these irksome scenes. In 1514, the number of the inhabitants of _Hayti_ was reckoned 14,000. A distributor of Indians was appointed, with powers independent of the Governor, with intention to save the few remaining natives of _Hayti_. The new distributor began the exercise of his office by a general revocation of all the _encomiendas_, except those which had been granted by the King; and almost immediately afterwards, in the most open and shameless manner, he made new grants, and sold them to the highest bidder. [Sidenote: 1515.] He was speedily recalled; and another (the Licentiate Ybarra) was sent to supply his place, who had a high character for probity and resolution; but he died immediately on his arrival at _Santo Domingo_, and not without suspicion that he was poisoned. [Sidenote: Bart. de las Casas, and Cardinal Ximenes; their endeavours to serve the Indians. The Cardinal dies.] The endeavours of the Dominican Friars in behalf of the natives were seconded by the Licentiate Bartolomeo de las Casas, and by Cardinal Ximenes when he became Prime Minister of _Spain_; and, to their great honour, they were both resolute to exert all their power to preserve the natives of _America_. The Cardinal sent Commissioners, and with them las Casas, with the title of Protector of the Indians. But the Cardinal died in 1517; after which all the exertions of las Casas and the Dominicans could not shake the _repartimientos_. [Sidenote: 1519.] At length, among the native Islanders there sprung up one who had the courage to put himself at the head of a number of his countrymen, and the address to withdraw with them from the gripe of the Spaniards, and to find refuge among the mountains. [Sidenote: Cacique Henriquez.] This man was the son, and, according to the laws of inheritance, should have been the successor, of one of the principal Caciques. He had been christened by the name of Henriquez, and, in consequence of a regulation made by the late Queen Ysabel of _Castile_, he had been educated, on account of his former rank, in a Convent of the Franciscans. He defended his retreat in the mountains by skilful management and resolute conduct, and had the good fortune in the commencement to defeat some parties of Spanish troops sent against him, which encouraged more of his countrymen, and as many of the Africans as could escape, to flock to him; and under his government, as of a sovereign prince, they withstood the attempts of the Spaniards to subdue them. Fortunately for Henriquez and his followers, the conquest and settlement of _Cuba_, and the invasion of _Mexico_, which was begun at this time, lessened the strength of the Spaniards in _Hispaniola_, and enabled the insurgents for many years to keep all the Spanish settlements in the Island in continual alarm, and to maintain their own independence. During this time, the question of the propriety of keeping the Islanders in slavery, underwent grave examinations. It is related that the experiment was tried, of allowing a number of the natives to build themselves two villages, to live in them according to their own customs and liking; and that the result was, they were found to be so improvident, and so utterly unable to take care of themselves, that the _encomiendas_ were pronounced to be necessary for their preservation. Such an experiment is a mockery. Before the conquest, and now under Don Henriquez, the people of _Hayti_ shewed they wanted not the Spaniards to take care of them. CHAP. III. _Ships of different European Nations frequent the =West Indies=. Opposition experienced by them from the =Spaniards=. Hunting of Cattle in =Hispaniola=._ [Sidenote: 1518. Adventure of an English Ship.] In the year 1517 or 1518, some Spaniards in a caravela going from _St. Domingo_ to the Island _Porto Rico_, to take in a lading of cassava, were surprised at seeing a ship there of about 250 tons, armed with cannon, which did not appear to belong to the Spanish nation; and on sending a boat to make enquiry, she was found to be English. The account given by the English Commander was, that two ships had sailed from _England_ in company, with the intention to discover the country of the Great Cham; that they were soon separated from each other by a tempest, and that this ship was afterwards in a sea almost covered with ice; that thence she had sailed southward to _Brasil_, and, after various adventures, had found the way to _Porto Rico_. This same English ship, being provided with merchandise, went afterwards to _Hispaniola_, and anchored near the entrance of the port of _San Domingo_, where the Captain sent on shore to demand leave to sell their goods. The demand was forwarded to the _Audiencia_, or superior court in _San Domingo_; but the Castellana, or Governor of the Castle, Francisco de Tapia, could not endure with patience to see a ship of another nation in that part of the world, and, without waiting for the determination of the _Audiencia_, ordered the cannon of the fort to be fired against her; on which she took up her anchor and returned to _Porto Rico_, where she purchased provisions, paying for what she got with wrought iron, and afterwards departed for _Europe_[3]. When this visit of an English ship to the _West Indies_ was known in _Spain_, it caused there great inquietude; and the Governor of the Castle of _San Domingo_, it is said, was much blamed, because he had not, instead of forcing the ship to depart by firing his cannon, contrived to seize her, so that no one might have returned to teach others of their nation the route to the Spanish Indies. [Sidenote: The French and other Europeans resort to the West Indies;] The English were not the only people of whom the Spaniards had cause to be jealous, nor those from whom the most mischief was to be apprehended. The French, as already noticed, had very early made expeditions to _Brasil_, and they now began to look at the _West Indies_; so that in a short time the sight of other European ships than those of _Spain_ became no novelty there. Hakluyt mentions a Thomas Tyson, an Englishman, who went to the _West Indies_ in 1526, as factor to some English merchants. [Sidenote: Are regarded as Interlopers by the Spaniards. 1529. Regulation proposed by the Government in Hispaniola, for protection against Pirates.] When the Spaniards met any of these intruders, if able to master them, they made prisoners of them, and many they treated as pirates. The new comers soon began to retaliate. In 1529, the Governor and Council at _San Domingo_ drew up the plan of a regulation for the security of their ships against the increasing dangers from pirates in the _West Indies_. In this, they recommended, that a central port of commerce should be established in the _West Indies_, to which every ship from _Spain_ should be obliged to go first, as to a general rendezvous, and thence be dispatched, as might suit circumstances, to her farther destination; also, that all their ships homeward bound, from whatsoever part of the _West Indies_, should first rendezvous at the same port; by which regulation their ships, both outward and homeward bound, would form escorts to each other, and have the benefit of mutual support; and they proposed that some port in _Hispaniola_ should be appointed for the purpose, as most conveniently situated. This plan appears to have been approved by the Council of the _Indies_; but, from indolence, or some other cause, no farther measures were taken for its adoption. The attention of the Spaniards was at this time almost wholly engrossed by the conquest and plunder of the American Continent, which it might have been supposed would have sufficed them, according to the opinion of Francisco Preciado, a Spanish discoverer, who observed, that _there was country enough to conquer for a thousand years_. The continental pursuits caused much diminution in the importance of the _West India Islands_ to the Spaniards. The mines of the Islands were not comparable in richness with those of the Continent, and, for want of labourers, many were left unworked. [Sidenote: Hunting of Cattle in Hispaniola.] The colonists in _Hispaniola_, however, had applied themselves to the cultivation of the sugar-cane, and to manufacture sugar; also to hunting cattle, which was found a profitable employment, the skins and the suet turning to good account. [Sidenote: Matadores.] The Spaniards denominated their hunters Matadores, which in the Spanish language signifies killers or slaughterers. That the English, French, and Hollanders, in their early voyages to the _West Indies_, went in expectation of meeting hostility from the Spaniards, and with a determination therefore to commit hostility if they could with advantage, appears by an ingenious phrase of the French adventurers, who, if the first opportunity was in their favour, termed their profiting by it '_se dedomager par avance_.' Much of _Hispaniola_ had become desert. There were long ranges of coast, with good ports, that were unfrequented by any inhabitant whatever, and the land in every part abounded with cattle. These were such great conveniencies to the ships of the interlopers, that the Western coast, which was the most distant part from the Spanish capital, became a place of common resort to them when in want of provisions. Another great attraction to them was the encouragement they received from Spanish settlers along the coast; who, from the contracted and monopolizing spirit of their government in the management of their colonies, have at all times been eager to have communication with foreigners, that they might obtain supplies of European goods on terms less exorbitant than those which the royal regulations of _Spain_ imposed. [Sidenote: Guarda-Costas.] The government at _San Domingo_ employed armed ships to prevent clandestine trade, and to clear the coasts of _Hispaniola_ of interlopers, which ships were called _guarda costas_; and it is said their commanders were instructed not to take prisoners. On the other hand, the intruders formed combinations, came in collected numbers, and made descents on different parts of the coast, ravaging the Spanish towns and settlements. In the customary course, such transactions would have come under the cognizance of the governments in _Europe_; but matters here took a different turn. The Spaniards, when they had the upper hand, did not fail to deal out their own pleasure for law; and in like manner, the English, French, and Dutch, when masters, determined their own measure of retaliation. The different European governments were glad to avoid being involved in the settlement of disorders they had no inclination to repress. In answer to representations made by _Spain_, they said, 'that the people complained against had acted entirely on their own authority, not as the subjects of any prince, and that the King of _Spain_ was at liberty to proceed against them according to his own pleasure.' Queen Elizabeth of _England_, with more open asperity answered a complaint made by the Spanish ambassador, of Spanish ships being plundered by the English in the _West Indies_, 'That the Spaniards had drawn these inconveniencies upon themselves, by their severe and unjust dealings in their American commerce; for she did not understand why either her subjects, or those of any other European prince, should be debarred from traffic in the _Indies_. That as she did not acknowledge the Spaniards to have any title by the donation of the Bishop of _Rome_, so she knew no right they had to any places other than those they were in actual possession of; for that their having touched only here and there upon a coast, and given names to a few rivers or capes, were such insignificant things as could no ways entitle them to a propriety further than in the parts where they actually settled, and continued to inhabit[4].' A warfare was thus established between Europeans in the _West Indies_, local and confined, which had no dependence upon transactions in _Europe_. [Sidenote: Brethren of the Coast.] All Europeans not Spaniards, whether it was war or peace between their nations in _Europe_, on their meeting in the _West Indies_, regarded each other as friends and allies, knowing then no other enemy than the Spaniards; and, as a kind of public avowal of this confederation, they called themselves _Brethren of the Coast_. The first European intruders upon the Spaniards in the _West Indies_ were accordingly mariners, the greater number of whom, it is supposed, were French, and next to them the English. Their first hunting of cattle in _Hayti_, was for provisioning their ships. The time they began to form factories or establishments, to hunt cattle for the skins, and to cure the flesh as an article of traffic, is not certain; but it may be concluded that these occupations were began by the crews of wrecked vessels, or by seamen who had disagreed with their commander; and that the ease, plenty, and freedom from all command and subordination, enjoyed in such a life, soon drew others to quit their ships, and join in the same occupations. The ships that touched on the coast supplied the hunters with European commodities, for which they received in return hides, tallow, and cured meat. The appellation of _Boucanier_ or _Buccaneer_ was not invented, or at least not applied to these adventurers, till long after their first footing in _Hayti_. At the time of Oxnam's expedition across the _Isthmus of America_ to the _South Sea_, A. D. 1575, it does not appear to have been known. There is no particular account of the events which took place on the coasts of _Hispaniola_ in the early part of the contest between the Spaniards and the new settlers. It is however certain, that it was a war of the severest retaliation; and in this disorderly state was continued the intercourse of the English, French, and Dutch with the _West Indies_, carried on by individuals neither authorized nor controlled by their governments, for more than a century. In 1586, the English Captain, Francis Drake, plundered the city of _San Domingo_; and the numbers of the English and French in the _West Indies_ increased so much, that shortly afterwards the Spaniards found themselves necessitated to abandon all the Western and North-western parts of _Hispaniola_. CHAP. IV. _Iniquitous Settlement of the Island =Saint Christopher= by the =English= and =French=. =Tortuga= seized by the Hunters. Origin of the name =Buccaneer=. The name =Flibustier=. Customs attributed to the =Buccaneers=._ The increase of trade of the English and French to the _West Indies_, and the growing importance of the freebooters or adventurers concerned in it, who, unassisted but by each other, had begun to acquire territory and to form establishments in spite of all opposition from the Spaniards, attracted the attention of the British and French governments, and suggested to them a scheme of confederacy, in which some of the principal adventurers were consulted. The project adopted by them was, to plant a royal colony of each nation, on some one island, and at the same time; by which a constant mutual support would be secured. In as far as regarded the concerns of Europeans with each other, this plan was unimpeachable. The Island chosen by the projectors, as the best suited to their purpose, was one of the _Small Antilles_ or _Caribbee Islands_, known by the name of _St. Christopher_, which is in length about seven leagues, and in breadth two and a half. [Sidenote: 1625. The Island Saint Christopher settled by the English and French.] Thus the governments of _Great Britain_ and _France_, like friendly fellow-travellers, and not like rivals who were to contend in a race, began their West-Indian career by joint consent at the same point both in time and place. In the year 1625, and on the same day, a colony of British and a colony of French, in the names and on the behalf of their respective nations, landed on this small island, the division of which had been settled by previous agreement. The Island _St. Christopher_ was at that time inhabited by Caribbe Indians. The Spaniards had never possessed a settlement on it, but their ships had been accustomed to stop there, to traffic for provisions and refreshments. The French and English who came to take possession, landed without obtaining the consent of the native Caribbe inhabitants; and, because danger was apprehended from their discontent, under pretence that the Caribbs were friends to the Spaniards, these new colonists fell upon them by surprise in the night, killed their principal leaders, and forced the rest to quit the Island and seek another home. De Rochefort, in his _Histoire Morale des Isles Antilles_ (p. 284.) mentions the English and French killing the Caribb Chiefs, in the following terms: '_Ils se defirent en une nuit de tous les plus factieux de cette nation!_' Thus in usurpation and barbarity was founded the first colony established under the authority of the British and French governments in the _West Indies_; which colony was the parent of our African slave trade. When accounts of the conquest and of the proceedings at _Saint Christopher_ were transmitted to _Europe_, they were approved; West-India companies were established, and licences granted to take out colonists. De Rochefort has oddly enough remarked, that the French, English, and Dutch, in their first establishments in the _West Indies_, did not follow the cruel maxims of the Spaniards. True it is, however, that they only copied in part. In their usurpations their aim went no farther than to dispossess, and they did not seek to make slaves of the people whom they deprived of their land. The English and French in a short time had disagreements, and began to make complaints of each other. The English took possession of the small Island _Nevis_, which is separated only by a narrow channel from the South end of _St. Christopher_. P. Charlevoix says, 'the ambition of the English disturbed the good understanding between the colonists of the two nations; but M. de Cusac arriving with a squadron of the French King's ships, by taking and sinking some British ships lying there, brought the English Governor to reason, and to confine himself to the treaty of Partition.' [Sidenote: 1629. The English and French driven from Saint Christopher by the Spaniards.] After effecting this amicable adjustment, De Cusac sailed from _St. Christopher_; and was scarcely clear of the Island when a powerful fleet, consisting of thirty-nine large ships, arrived from _Spain_, and anchored in the Road. Almost without opposition the Spaniards became masters of the Island, although the English and French, if they had cordially joined, could have mustered a force of twelve hundred men. Intelligence that the Spaniards intended this attack, had been timely received in _France_; and M. de Cusac's squadron had in consequence been dispatched to assist in the defence of _St. Christopher_; but the Spaniards being slow in their preparations, their fleet did not arrive at the time expected, and De Cusac, hearing no news of them, presumed that they had given up their design against _St. Christopher_. Without strengthening the joint colony, he gave the English a lesson on moderation, little calculated to incline them to co-operate heartily with the French in defence of the Island, and sailed on a cruise to the _Gulf of Mexico_. Shortly after his departure, towards the end of the year 1629, the Spanish fleet arrived. The colonists almost immediately despaired of being able to oppose so great a force. Many of the French embarked in their ships in time to effect their escape, and to take refuge among the islands northward. The remainder, with the English, lay at the disposal of the Spanish commander, Don Frederic de _Toledo_. At this time _Spain_ was at war with _England_, _France_, and _Holland_; and this armament was designed ultimately to act against the Hollanders in _Brasil_, but was ordered by the way to drive the English and the French from the Island of _Saint Christopher_. Don Frederic would not weaken his force by leaving a garrison there, and was in haste to prosecute his voyage to _Brasil_. As the settlement of _Saint Christopher_ had been established on regular government authorities, the settlers were treated as prisoners of war. To clear the Island in the most speedy manner, Don Frederic took many of the English on board his own fleet, and made as many of the other colonists embark as could be crowded in any vessels which could be found for them. He saw them get under sail, and leave the Island; and from those who remained, he required their parole, that they would depart by the earliest opportunity which should present itself, warning them, at the same time, that if, on his return from _Brasil_, he found any Englishmen or Frenchmen at _Saint Christopher_, they should be put to the sword. [Sidenote: 1630. They return.] After this, he sailed for _Brasil_. As soon, however, as it was known that the Spanish fleet had left the West-Indian sea, the colonists, both English and French, returned to _Saint Christopher_, and repossessed themselves of their old quarters. The settlement of the Island _Saint Christopher_ gave great encouragement to the hunters on the West coast of _Hispaniola_. Their manufactories for the curing of meat, and for drying the skins, multiplied; and as the value of them increased, they began to think it of consequence to provide for their security. [Sidenote: The Island Tortuga seized by the English and French Hunters.] To this end they took possession of the small Island _Tortuga_, near the North-west end of _Hispaniola_, where the Spaniards had placed a garrison, but which was too small to make opposition. There was a road for shipping, with good anchorage, at _Tortuga_; and its separation from the main land of _Hispaniola_ seemed to be a good guarantee from sudden and unexpected attack. They built magazines there, for the lodgement of their goods, and regarded this Island as their head quarters, or place of general rendezvous to which to repair in times of danger. They elected no chief, erected no fortification, set up no authorities, nor fettered themselves by any engagement. All was voluntary; and they were negligently contented at having done so much towards their security. [Sidenote: Whence the Name Buccaneer.] About the time of their taking possession of _Tortuga_, they began to be known by the name of Buccaneers, of which appellation it will be proper to speak at some length. The flesh of the cattle killed by the hunters, was cured to keep good for use, after a manner learnt from the Caribbe Indians, which was as follows: The meat was laid to be dried upon a wooden grate or hurdle (_grille de bois_) which the Indians called _barbecu_, placed at a good distance over a slow fire. The meat when cured was called _boucan_, and the same name was given to the place of their cookery. Père Labat describes _Viande boucannée_ to be, _Viande seché a petit feu et a la fumée_. The Caribbes are said to have sometimes served their prisoners after this fashion, '_Ils les mangent après les avoir bien boucannée, c'est a dire, rotis bien sec_[5].' The boucan was a very favourite method of cooking among these Indians. A Caribbe has been known, on returning home from fishing, fatigued and pressed with hunger, to have had the patience to wait the roasting of a fish on a wooden grate fixed two feet above the ground, over a fire so small as sometimes to require the whole day to dress it[6]. The flesh of the cattle was in general dried in the smoke, without being salted. The _Dictionnaire de Trevoux_ explains _Boucaner_ to be '_faire sorer sans sel_,' to dry red without salt. But the flesh of wild hogs, and also of the beeves when intended for keeping a length of time, was first salted. The same thing was practised among the Brasilians. It was remarked in one of the earliest visits of the Portuguese to _Brasil_, that the natives (who were cannibals) kept human flesh salted and smoked, hanging up in their houses[7]. The meat cured by the Buccaneers to sell to shipping for sea-store, it is probable was all salted. The process is thus described: 'The bones being taken out, the flesh was cut into convenient pieces and salted, and the next day was taken to the _boucan_.' Sometimes, to give a peculiar relish to the meat, the skin of the animal was cast into the fire under it. The meat thus cured was of a fine red colour, and of excellent flavour; but in six months after it was boucanned, it had little taste left, except of salt. The boucanned hog's flesh continued good a much longer time than the flesh of the beeves, if kept in dry places. From adopting the boucan of the Caribbes, the hunters in _Hispaniola_, the Spaniards excepted, came to be called Boucaniers, but afterwards, according to a pronunciation more in favour with the English, Buccaneers[8]. Many of the French hunters were natives of _Normandy_; whence it became proverbial in some of the sea-ports of _Normandy_ to say of a smoky house, _c'est un vrai Boucan_. [Sidenote: The name Flibustier.] The French Buccaneers and Adventurers were also called Flibustiers, and more frequently by that than by any other name. The word Flibustier is merely the French mariner's mode of pronouncing the English word Freebooter, a name which long preceded that of Boucanier or Buccaneer, as the occupation of cruising against the Spaniards preceded that of hunting and curing meat. Some authors have given a derivation to the name _Flibustier_ from the word Flyboat, because, say they, the French hunters in _Hispaniola_ bought vessels of the Dutch, called Flyboats, to cruise upon the Spaniards. There are two objections to this derivation. First, the word _flyboat_, is only an English translation of the Dutch word _fluyt_, which is the proper denomination of the vessel intended by it. Secondly, it would not very readily occur to any one to purchase Dutch fluyts, or flyboats, for chasing vessels. Some have understood the Boucanier and Flibustier to be distinct both in person and character[9]. This was probably the case with a few, after the settlement of _Tortuga_; but before, and very generally afterwards, the occupations were joined, making one of amphibious character. Ships from all parts of the _West Indies_ frequented _Tortuga_, and it continually happened that some among the crews quitted their ships to turn Buccaneers; whilst among the Buccaneers some would be desirous to quit their hunting employment, to go on a cruise, to make a voyage, or to return to _Europe_. The two occupations of hunting and cruising being so common to the same person, caused the names Flibustier and Buccaneer to be esteemed synonimous, signifying always and principally the being at war with the Spaniards. The Buccaneer and Flibustier therefore, as long as they continued in a state of independence, are to be considered as the same character, exercising sometimes one, sometimes the other employment; and either name was taken by them indifferently, whether they were employed on the sea or on the land. But a fanciful kind of inversion took place, through the different caprices of the French and English adventurers. The greater part of the first cattle hunters were French, and the greater number of the first cruisers against the Spaniards were English. The French adventurers, nevertheless, had a partiality for the name of Flibustier; whilst the English shewed a like preference for the name of Buccaneer, which, as will be seen, was assumed by many hundred seamen of their nation, who were never employed either in hunting or in the boucan. [Sidenote: Customs attributed to the Buccaneers.] A propensity to make things which are extraordinary appear more so, has caused many peculiar customs to be attributed to the Buccaneers, which, it is pretended, were observed as strictly as if they had been established laws. It is said that every Buccaneer had his chosen and declared comrade, between whom property was in common, and if one died, the survivor was inheritor of the whole. This was called by the French _Matelotage_. It is however acknowledged that the _Matelotage_ was not a compulsatory regulation; and that the Buccaneers sometimes bequeathed by will. A general right of participation in some things, among which was meat for present consumption, was acknowledged among them; and it is said, that bolts, locks, and every species of fastening, were prohibited, it being held that the use of such securities would have impeached the honour of their vocation. Yet on commencing Buccaneer, it was customary with those who were of respectable lineage, to relinquish their family name, and assume some other, as a _nom de guerre_. Their dress, which was uniformly slovenly when engaged in the business of hunting or of the boucan, is mentioned as a prescribed _costume_, but which doubtless was prescribed only by their own negligence and indolence; in particular, that they wore an unwashed shirt and pantaloons dyed in the blood of the animals they had killed. Other distinctions, equally capricious, and to little purpose, are related, which have no connexion with their history. Some curious anecdotes are produced, to shew the great respect some among them entertained for religion and for morality. A certain Flibustier captain, named Daniel, shot one of his crew in the church, for behaving irreverently during the performance of mass. Raveneau de Lussan (whose adventures will be frequently mentioned) took the occupation of a Buccaneer, because he was in debt, and wished, as every honest man should do, to have wherewithal to satisfy his creditors. In their sea enterprises, they followed most of the customs which are generally observed in private ships of war; and sometimes were held together by a subscribed written agreement, by the English called Charter-party; by the French _Chasse-partie_, which might in this case be construed a Chasing agreement. Whenever it happened that _Spain_ was at open and declared war with any of the maritime nations of _Europe_, the Buccaneers who were natives of the country at war with her, obtained commissions, which rendered the vessels in which they cruised, regular privateers. The English adventurers sometimes, as is seen in Dampier, called themselves Privateers, applying the term to persons in the same manner we now apply it to private ships of war. The Dutch, whose terms are generally faithful to the meaning intended, called the adventurers _Zee Roovers_; the word _roover_ in the Dutch language comprising the joint sense of the two English words rover and robber. CHAP. V. _Treaty made by the Spaniards with Don =Henriquez=. Increase of English and French in the =West Indies=. =Tortuga= surprised by the Spaniards. Policy of the English and French Governments with respect to the Buccaneers. =Mansvelt=, his attempt to form an independent Buccaneer Establishment. French West-India Company. =Morgan= succeeds =Mansvelt= as Chief of the Buccaneers._ [Sidenote: 1630.] The Spanish Government at length began to think it necessary to relax from their large pretensions, and in the year 1630 entered into treaties with other European nations, for mutual security of their West-India possessions. In a Treaty concluded that year with _Great Britain_, it was declared, that peace, amity, and friendship, should be observed between their respective subjects, in all parts of the world. But this general specification was not sufficient to produce effect in the _West Indies_. [Sidenote: 1633.] In _Hispaniola_, in the year 1633, the Government at _San Domingo_ concluded a treaty with Don Henriquez; which was the more readily accorded to him, because it was apprehended the revolted natives would league with the Brethren of the Coast. By this treaty all the followers of Don Henriquez who could claim descent from the original natives, in number four thousand persons, were declared free and under his protection, and lands were marked out for them. But, what is revolting to all generous hopes of human nature, the negroes were abandoned to the Spaniards. Magnanimity was not to be expected of the natives of _Hayti_; yet they had shewn themselves capable of exertion for their own relief; and a small degree more of firmness would have included these, their most able champions, in the treaty. This weak and wicked defection from friends, confederated with them in one common and righteous cause, seems to have wrought its own punishment. The vigilance and vigour of mind of the negro might have guarded against encroachments upon the independence obtained; instead of which, the wretched Haytians in a short time fell again wholly into the grinding hands of the Spaniards: and in the early part of the eighteenth century, it was reckoned that the whole number living, of the descendants of the party of Don Henriquez, did not quite amount to one hundred persons. [Sidenote: Cultivation in Tortuga.] The settlement of the Buccaneers at _Tortuga_ drew many Europeans there, as well settlers as others, to join in their adventures and occupations. They began to clear and cultivate the grounds, which were before overgrown with woods, and made plantations of tobacco, which proved to be of extraordinary good quality. [Sidenote: Increase of the English and French Settlements in the West Indies.] More Europeans, not Spaniards, consequently allies of the Buccaneers, continued to pour into the _West Indies_, and formed settlements on their own accounts, on some of the islands of the small _Antilles_. These settlements were not composed of mixtures of different people, but were most of them all English or all French; and as they grew into prosperity, they were taken possession of for the crowns of _England_ or of _France_ by the respective governments. Under the government authorities new colonists were sent out, royal governors were appointed, and codes of law established, which combined, with the security of the colony, the interests of the mother-country. But at the same time these benefits were conferred, grants of lands were made under royal authority, which dispossessed many persons, who, by labour and perilous adventure, and some who at considerable expence, had achieved establishments for themselves, in favour of men till then no way concerned in any of the undertakings. In some cases, grants of whole islands were obtained, by purchase or favour; and the first settlers, who had long before gained possession, and who had cleared and brought the ground into a state for cultivation, were rendered dependent upon the new proprietary governors, to whose terms they were obliged to submit, or to relinquish their tenure. Such were the hard accompaniments to the protection afforded by the governments of _France_ and _Great Britain_ to colonies, which, before they were acknowledged legitimate offsprings of the mother-country, had grown into consideration through their own exertions; and only because they were found worth adopting, were now received into the parent family. The discontents created by this rapacious conduct of the governments, and the disregard shewn to the claims of the first settlers, instigated some to resistance and rebellion, and caused many to join the Buccaneers. The Caribbe inhabitants were driven from their lands also with as little ceremony. The Buccaneer colony at _Tortuga_ had not been beheld with indifference by the Spaniards. [Sidenote: 1638.] The Buccaneers, with the carelessness natural to men in their loose condition of life, under neither command nor guidance, continued to trust to the supineness of the enemy for their safety, and neglected all precaution. [Sidenote: Tortuga surprised by the Spaniards.] In the year 1638, the Spaniards with a large force fell unexpectedly upon _Tortuga_, at a time when the greater number of the settlers were absent in _Hispaniola_ on the chace; and those who were on the Island, having neither fortress nor government, became an easy prey to the Spaniards, who made a general massacre of all who fell into their hands, not only of those they surprised in the beginning, but many who afterwards came in from the woods to implore their lives on condition of returning to _Europe_, they hanged. A few kept themselves concealed, till they found an opportunity to cross over to their brethren in _Hispaniola_. It happened not to suit the convenience of the Spaniards to keep a garrison at _Tortuga_, and they were persuaded the Buccaneers would not speedily again expose themselves to a repetition of such treatment as they had just experienced; therefore they contented themselves with destroying the buildings, and as much as they could of the plantations; after which they returned to _San Domingo_. In a short time after their departure, the remnant of the Hunters collected to the number of three hundred, again fixed themselves at _Tortuga_, and, for the first time, elected a commander. As the hostility of the Buccaneers had constantly and solely been directed against the Spaniards, all other Europeans in the _West Indies_ regarded them as champions in the common cause, and the severities which had been exercised against them created less of dread than of a spirit of vengeance. The numbers of the Buccaneers were quickly recruited by volunteers of English, French, and Dutch, from all parts; and both the occupations of hunting and cruising were pursued with more than usual eagerness. The French and English Governors in the _West Indies_, influenced by the like feelings, either openly, or by connivance, gave constant encouragement to the Buccaneers. The French Governor at _St. Christopher_, who was also Governor General for the French West-India Islands, was most ready to send assistance to the Buccaneers. This Governor, Monsieur de Poincy, an enterprising and capable man, had formed a design to take possession of the Island _Tortuga_ for the crown of _France_; which he managed to put in execution three years after, having by that time predisposed some of the principal French Buccaneers to receive a garrison of the French king's troops. [Sidenote: Tortuga taken possession of for the Crown of France.] This appropriation was made in 1641; and De Poincy, thinking his acquisition would be more secure to _France_ by the absence of the English, forced all the English Buccaneers to quit the Island. The French writers say, that before the interposition of the French Governor, the English Buccaneers took advantage of their numbers, and domineered in _Tortuga_. The English Governors in the _West Indies_ could not at this time shew the same tender regard for the English Buccaneers, as the support they received from home was very precarious, owing to the disputes which then subsisted in _England_ between King Charles and the English Parliament, which engrossed so much of the public attention as to leave little to colonial concerns. The French Commander de Poincy pushed his success. In his appointment of a Governor to _Tortuga_, he added the title of Governor of the West coast of _Hispaniola_, and by degrees he introduced French garrisons. This was the first footing obtained by the Government of _France_ in _Hispaniola_. The same policy was observed there respecting the English as at _Tortuga_, by which means was effected a separation of the English Buccaneers from the French. After this time, it was only occasionally, and from accidental circumstances, or by special agreement, that they acted in concert. The English adventurers, thus elbowed out of _Hispaniola_ and _Tortuga_, lost the occupation of hunting cattle and of the boucan, but they continued to be distinguished by the appellation of Buccaneers, and, when not cruising, most generally harboured at the Islands possessed by the British. Hitherto, it had rested in the power of the Buccaneers to have formed themselves into an independent state. Being composed of people of different nations, the admission of a Governor from any one, might easily have been resisted. Now, they were considered in a kind of middle state, between that of Buccaneers and of men returned to their native allegiance. It seemed now in the power of the English and French Governments to put a stop to their cruisings, and to furnish them with more honest employment; but politics of a different cast prevailed. The Buccaneers were regarded as profitable to the Colonies, on account of the prizes they brought in; and even vanity had a share in their being countenanced. [Sidenote: Policy of the English and French Governments with respect to the Buccaneers.] The French authors call them _nos braves_, and the English speak of their 'unparalleled exploits.' The policy both of _England_ and of _France_ with respect to the Buccaneers, seems to have been well described in the following sentence: _On laissoit faire des Avanturiers, qu'on pouvoit toujours desavouer, mais dont les succes pouvoient etre utiles_: _i. e._ 'they connived at the actions of these Adventurers, which could always be disavowed, and whose successes might be serviceable.' This was not esteemed _friponnerie_, but a maxim of sound state policy. In the character given of a good French West-India governor, he is praised, for that, 'besides encouraging the cultivation of lands, he never neglected to encourage the _Flibustiers_. It was a certain means of improving the Colony, by attracting thither the young and enterprising. He would scarcely receive a slight portion of what he was entitled to from his right of bestowing commissions in time of war[10]. And when we were at peace, and our Flibustiers, for want of other employment, would go cruising, and would carry their prizes to the English Islands, he was at the pains of procuring them commissions from _Portugal_, which country was then at war with _Spain_; in virtue of which our _Flibustiers_ continued to make themselves redoubtable to the Spaniards, and to spread riches and abundance in our Colonies.' This panegyric was bestowed by Père Labat; who seems to have had more of national than of moral or religious feeling on this head. It was a powerful consideration with the French and English Governments, to have at their occasional disposal, without trouble or expence, a well trained military force, always at hand, and willing to be employed upon emergency; who required no pay nor other recompense for their services and constant readiness, than their share of plunder, and that their piracies upon the Spaniards should pass unnoticed. [Sidenote: 1644.] Towards the end of 1644, a new Governor General for the French West-India possessions was appointed by the French Regency (during the minority of Louis XIV.); but the Commander de Poincy did not choose to resign, and the colonists were inclined to support him. Great discontents prevailed in the French Colonies, which rendered them liable to being shaken by civil wars; and the apprehensions of the Regency on this head enabled De Poincy to stand his ground. He remained Governor General over the French Colonies not only for the time, but was continued in that office, by succeeding administrations, many years. [Sidenote: 1654. The Buccaneers plunder New Segovia.] About the year 1654, a large party of Buccaneers, French and English, joined in an expedition on the Continent. They ascended a river of the _Mosquito shore_, a small distance on the South side of _Cape Gracias a Dios_, in canoes; and after labouring nearly a month against a strong stream and waterfalls, they left their canoes, and marched to the town of _Nueva Segovia_, which they plundered, and then returned down the river. [Sidenote: The Spaniards retake Tortuga. 1655. With the assistance of the Buccaneers, the English take Jamaica: 1660; And the French retake Tortuga.] In the same year, the Spaniards took _Tortuga_ from the French. In the year following, 1655, _England_ being at war with _Spain_, a large force was sent from _England_ to attempt the conquest of the Island _Hispaniola_. In this attempt they failed; but afterwards fell upon _Jamaica_, of which Island they made themselves masters, and kept possession. In the conquest of _Jamaica_, the English were greatly assisted by the Buccaneers; and a few years after, with their assistance also, the French regained possession of _Tortuga_. On the recovery of _Tortuga_, the French Buccaneers greatly increased in the Northern and Western parts of _Hispaniola_. _Spain_ also sent large reinforcements from _Europe_; and for some years war was carried on with great spirit and animosity on both sides. During the heat of this contest, the French Buccaneers followed more the occupation of hunting, and less that of cruising, than at any other period of their history. The Spaniards finding they could not expel the French from _Hispaniola_, determined to join their efforts to those of the French hunters, for the destruction of the cattle and wild hogs on the Island, so as to render the business of hunting unproductive. But the French had begun to plant; and the depriving them of the employment of hunting, drove them to other occupations not less contrary to the interest and wishes of the Spaniards. The less profit they found in the chase, the more they became cultivators and cruisers. [Sidenote: Pierre le Grand, a French Buccaneer.] The Buccaneer Histories of this period abound with relations: of daring actions performed by them; but many of which are chiefly remarkable for the ferocious cruelty of the leaders by whom they were conducted. Pierre, a native of _Dieppe_, for his success received to his name the addition of _le grand_, and is mentioned as one of the first Flibustiers who obtained much notoriety. In a boat, with a crew of twenty-eight men, he surprised and took the Ship of the Vice-Admiral of the Spanish galeons, as she was sailing homeward-bound with a rich freight. He set the Spanish crew on shore at _Cape Tiburon_, the West end of _Hispaniola_, and sailed in his prize to _France_. [Sidenote: Alexandre.] A Frenchman, named Alexandre, also in a small vessel, took a Spanish ship of war. [Sidenote: Montbars, surnamed the Exterminator.] It is related of another Frenchman, a native of _Languedoc_, named Montbars, that on reading a history of the cruelty of the Spaniards to the Americans, he conceived such an implacable hatred against the Spaniards, that he determined on going to the _West Indies_ to join the Buccaneers; and that he there pursued his vengeance with so much ardour as to acquire the surname of the Exterminator. [Sidenote: Bartolomeo Portuguez.] One Buccaneer of some note was a native of _Portugal_, known by the name of Bartolomeo Portuguez; who, however, was more renowned for his wonderful escapes, both in battle, and from the gallows, than for his other actions. [Sidenote: L'Olonnois, a French Buccaneer, and Michel le Basque, take Maracaibo and Gibraltar.] But no one of the Buccaneers hitherto named, arrived at so great a degree of notoriety, as a Frenchman, called François L'Olonnois, a native of part of the French coast which is near the sands of _Olonne_, but whose real name is not known. This man, and Michel le Basque, both Buccaneer commanders, at the head of 650 men, took the towns of _Maracaibo_ and _Gibraltar_ in the _Gulf of Venezuela_, on the _Tierra Firma_. The booty they obtained by the plunder and ransom of these places, was estimated at 400,000 crowns. The barbarities practised on the prisoners could not be exceeded. [Sidenote: Outrages committed by L'Olonnois.] Olonnois was possessed with an ambition to make himself renowned for being terrible. At one time, it is said, he put the whole crew of a Spanish ship, ninety men, to death, performing himself the office of executioner, by beheading them. He caused the crews of four other vessels to be thrown into the sea; and more than once, in his frenzies, he tore out the hearts of his victims, and devoured them. Yet this man had his encomiasts; so much will loose notions concerning glory, aided by a little partiality, mislead even sensible men. Père Charlevoix says, _Celui de tous, dont les grandes actions illustrerent davantage les premieres années du gouvernement de M. d'Ogeron, fut l'Olonnois. Ses premiers succès furent suivis de quelques malheurs, qui ne servirent qu'à donner un nouveau lustre à sa gloire._ The career of this savage was terminated by the Indians of the coast of _Darien_, on which he had landed. [Sidenote: Mansvelt, a Buccaneer Chief; his Plan for forming a Buccaneer Establishment. 1664.] The Buccaneers now went in such formidable numbers, that several Spanish towns, both on the Continent and among the Islands of the _West Indies_, submitted to pay them contribution. And at this time, a Buccaneer commander, named Mansvelt, more provident and more ambitious in his views than any who preceded him, formed a project for founding an independent Buccaneer establishment. Of what country Mansvelt was native, does not appear; but he was so popular among the Buccaneers, that both French and English were glad to have him for their leader. The greater number of his followers in his attempt to form a settlement were probably English, as he fitted out in _Jamaica_. A Welshman, named Henry Morgan, who had made some successful cruises as a Buccaneer, went with him as second in command. [Sidenote: Island S^{ta} Katalina, or Providence; since named Old Providence.] The place designed by them for their establishment, was an Island named _S^{ta} Katalina_, or _Providence_, situated in latitude 13° 24' N, about 40 leagues to the Eastward of the _Mosquito shore_. This Island is scarcely more than two leagues in its greatest extent, but has a harbour capable of being easily fortified against an enemy; and very near to its North end is a much smaller Island. The late Charts assign the name of _S^{ta} Katalina_ to the small Island, and give to the larger Island that of _Old Providence_, the epithet _Old_ having been added to distinguish this from the _Providence_ of the _Bahama Islands_. At the time Mansvelt undertook his scheme of settlement, this _S^{ta} Katalina_, or _Providence Island_, was occupied by the Spaniards, who had a fort and good garrison there. Some time in or near the year 1664, Mansvelt sailed thither from _Jamaica_, with fifteen vessels and 500 men. He assaulted and took the fort, which he garrisoned with one hundred Buccaneers and all the slaves he had taken, and left the command to a Frenchman, named Le Sieur Simon. At the end of his cruise, he returned to _Jamaica_, intending to procure there recruits for his Settlement of _S^{ta} Katalina_; but the Governor of _Jamaica_, however friendly to the Buccaneers whilst they made _Jamaica_ their home, saw many reasons for disliking Mansvelt's plan, and would not consent to his raising men. [Sidenote: Death of Mansvelt.] Not being able to overcome the Governor's unwillingness, Mansvelt sailed for _Tortuga_, to try what assistance he could procure there; but in the passage he was suddenly taken ill, and died. For a length of time after, Simon remained at _S^{ta} Katalina_ with his garrison, in continual expectation of seeing or hearing from Mansvelt; instead of which, a large Spanish force arrived and besieged his fort, when, learning of Mansvelt's death, and seeing no prospect of receiving reinforcement or relief, he found himself obliged to surrender. [Sidenote: French West-India Company.] The government in _France_ had appointed commissioners on behalf of the French West-India Company, to take all the Islands called the _French Antilles_, out of the hands of individuals, subjects of _France_, who had before obtained possession, and to put them into the possession of the said Company, to be governed according to such provisions as they should think proper. [Sidenote: 1665.] In February 1665, M. d'Ogeron was appointed Governor of _Tortuga_, and of the French settlements in _Hispaniola_, or _St. Domingo_, as the Island was now more commonly called. [Sidenote: The French settlers dispute their authority.] On his arrival at _Tortuga_, the French adventurers, both there and in _Hispaniola_, declared that if he came to govern in the name of the King of _France_, he should find faithful and obedient subjects; but they would not submit themselves to any Company; and in no case would they consent to the prohibiting their trade with the Hollanders, 'with whom,' said the Buccaneers, 'we have been in the constant habit of trading, and were so before it was known in _France_ that there was a single Frenchman in _Tortuga_, or on the coast of _St. Domingo_.' [Sidenote: 1665-7.] M. d'Ogeron had recourse to dissimulation to allay these discontents. He yielded consent to the condition respecting the commerce with the Dutch, fully resolved not to observe it longer than till his authority should be sufficiently established for him to break it with safety; and to secure the commerce within his government exclusively to the French West-India Company, who, when rid of all competitors, would be able to fix their own prices. It was not long before M. d'Ogeron judged the opportunity was arrived for effecting this revocation without danger; but it caused a revolt of the French settlers in _St. Domingo_, which did not terminate without bloodshed and an execution; and so partial as well as defective in principle were the historians who have related the fact, that they have at the same time commended M. d'Ogeron for his probity and simple manners. In the end, he prevailed in establishing a monopoly for the Company, to the injury of his old companions the French Buccaneers, with whom he had at a former period associated, and who had been his benefactors in a time of his distress. [Sidenote: Morgan succeeds Mansvelt; plunders Puerto del Principe.] On the death of Mansvelt, Morgan was regarded as the most capable and most fortunate leader of any of the _Jamaica_ Buccaneers. With a body of several hundred men, who placed themselves under his command, he took and plundered the town of _Puerto del Principe_ in _Cuba_. A quarrel happened at this place among the Buccaneers, in which a Frenchman was treacherously slain by an Englishman. The French took to arms, to revenge the death of their countryman; but Morgan pacified them by putting the murderer in irons, and promising he should be delivered up to justice on their return to _Jamaica_; which was done, and the criminal was hanged. But in some other respects, the French were not so well satisfied with Morgan for their commander, as they had been with Mansvelt. Morgan was a great rogue, and little respected the old proverb of, Honour among Thieves: this had been made manifest to the French, and almost all of them separated from him. [Sidenote: 1667. Maracaibo again pillaged. 1668. Morgan takes Porto Bello: Exercises great Cruelty.] _Maracaibo_ was now a second time pillaged by the French Buccaneers, under Michel le Basque. Morgan's next undertaking was against _Porto Bello_, one of the principal and best fortified ports belonging to the Spaniards in the _West Indies_. He had under his command only 460 men; but not having revealed his design to any person, he came on the town by surprise, and found it unprepared. Shocking cruelties are related to have been committed in this expedition. Among many others, that a castle having made more resistance than had been expected, Morgan, after its surrendering, shut up the garrison in it, and caused fire to be set to the magazine, destroying thereby the castle and the garrison together. In the attack of another fort, he compelled a number of religious persons, both male and female, whom he had taken prisoners, to carry and plant scaling ladders against the walls; and many of them were killed by those who defended the fort. The Buccaneers in the end became masters of the place, and the use they made of their victory corresponded with their actions in obtaining it. Many prisoners died under tortures inflicted on them to make them discover concealed treasures, whether they knew of any or not. A large ransom was also extorted for the town and prisoners. This success attracted other Buccaneers, among them the French again, to join Morgan; and by a kind of circular notice they rendezvoused in large force under his command at the _Isla de la Vaca_ (by the French called _Isle Avache_) near the SW part of _Hispaniola_. A large French Buccaneer ship was lying at _la Vaca_, which was not of this combination, the commander and crew of which refused to join with Morgan, though much solicited. Morgan was angry, but dissembled, and with a show of cordiality invited the French captain and his officers to an entertainment on board his own ship. When they were his guests, they found themselves his prisoners; and their ship, being left without officers, was taken without resistance. The men put by Morgan in charge of the ship, fell to drinking; and, whether from their drunkenness and negligence, or from the revenge of any of the prisoners, cannot be known, she suddenly blew up, by which 350 English Buccaneers, and all the Frenchmen on board her, perished. _The History of the Buccaneers of America_, in which the event is related, adds by way of remark, 'Thus was this unjust action of Captain Morgan's soon followed by divine justice; for this ship, the largest in his fleet, was blown up in the air, with 350 Englishmen and all the French prisoners.' This comment seems to have suggested to Voltaire the ridicule he has thrown on the indiscriminate manner in which men sometimes pronounce misfortune to be a peculiar judgment of God, in the dialogue he put into the mouths of Candide and Martin, on the wicked Dutch skipper being drowned. [Sidenote: 1669. Maracaibo and Gibraltar plundered by Morgan.] From _Isla de la Vaca_ Morgan sailed with his fleet to _Maracaibo_ and _Gibraltar_; which unfortunate towns were again sacked. It was a frequent practice with these desperadoes to secure their prisoners by shutting them up in churches, where it was easy to keep guard over them. This was done by Morgan at _Maracaibo_ and _Gibraltar_, and with so little care for their subsistence, that many of the prisoners were actually starved to death, whilst their merciless victors were rioting in the plunder of their houses. Morgan remained so long at _Gibraltar_, that the Spaniards had time to repair and put in order a castle at the entrance of the _Lagune of Maracaibo_; and three large Spanish ships of war arrived and took stations near the castle, by which they hoped to cut off the retreat of the pirates. [Sidenote: His Contrivances in effecting his Retreat.] The Buccaneer Histories give Morgan much credit here, for his management in extricating his fleet and prizes from their difficult situation, which is related to have been in the following manner. He converted one of his vessels into a fire-ship, but so fitted up as to preserve the appearance of a ship intended for fighting, and clumps of wood were stuck up in her, dressed with hats on, to resemble men. By means of this ship, the rest of his fleet following close at hand, he took one of the Spanish ships, and destroyed the two others. Still there remained the castle to be passed; which he effected without loss, by a stratagem which deceived the Spaniards from their guard. During the day, and in sight of the castle, he filled his boats with armed men, and they rowed from the ships to a part of the shore which was well concealed by thickets. After waiting as long as might be supposed to be occupied in the landing, all the men lay down close in the bottom of the boats, except two in each, who rowed them back, going to the sides of the ships which were farthest from the castle. This being repeated several times, caused the Spaniards to believe that the Buccaneers intended an assault by land with their whole force; and they made disposition with their cannon accordingly, leaving the side of the castle towards the sea unprovided. When it was night, and the ebb tide began to make, Morgan's fleet took up their anchors, and, without setting sail, it being moonlight, they fell down the river, unperceived, till they were nigh the castle. They then set their sails, and fired upon the castle, and before the Spaniards could bring their guns back to return the fire, the ships were past. The value of the booty made in this expedition was 250,000 pieces of eight. Some minor actions of the Buccaneers are omitted here, not being of sufficient consequence to excuse detaining the Reader, to whom will next be related one of their most remarkable exploits. CHAP. VI. _Treaty of =America=. Expedition of the Buccaneers against =Panama=. Exquemelin's History of the American Sea Rovers. Misconduct of the European Governors in the =West Indies=._ [Sidenote: 1670.] In July 1670, was concluded a Treaty between _Great Britain_ and _Spain_, made expressly with the intention of terminating the Buccaneer war, and of settling all disputes between the subjects of the two countries in _America_. It has been with this especial signification entitled the Treaty of _America_, and is the first which appears to have been dictated by a mutual disposition to establish peace in the _West Indies_. The articles particularly directed to this end are the following:-- [Sidenote: Treaty between Great Britain and Spain, called the Treaty of America.] Art. II. There shall be an universal peace and sincere friendship, as well in _America_, as in other parts, between the Kings of _Great Britain_ and _Spain_, their heirs and successors, their kingdoms, plantations, &c. III. That all hostilities, depredations, &c. shall cease between the subjects of the said Kings. IV. The two Kings shall take care that their subjects forbear all acts of hostility, and shall call in all commissions, letters of marque and reprisals, and punish all offenders, obliging them to make reparation. VII. All past injuries, on both sides, shall be buried in oblivion. VIII. The King of _Great Britain_ shall hold and enjoy all the lands, countries, &c. he is now possessed of in _America_. IX. The subjects on each side shall forbear trading or sailing to any places whatsoever under the dominion of the other, without particular licence. XIV. Particular offences shall be repaired in the common course of justice, and no reprisals made unless justice be denied, or unreasonably retarded. When notice of this Treaty was received in the _West Indies_, the Buccaneers, immediately as of one accord, resolved to undertake some grand expedition. Many occurrences had given rise to jealousies between the English and the French in the _West Indies_; but Morgan's reputation as a commander was so high, that adventurers from all parts signified their readiness to join him, and he appointed _Cape Tiburon_ on the West of _Hispaniola_ for the place of general rendezvous. In consequence of this summons, in the beginning of December 1670, a fleet was there collected under his command, consisting of no less than thirty-seven vessels of different sizes, and above 2000 men. Having so large a force, he held council with the principal commanders, and proposed for their determination, which they should attempt of the three places, _Carthagena_, _Vera Cruz_, and _Panama_. _Panama_ was believed to be the richest, and on that City the lot fell. A century before, when the name of Buccaneer was not known, roving adventurers had crossed the _Isthmus of America_ from the _West Indies_ to the _South Sea_; but the fate of Oxnam and his companions deterred others from the like attempt, until the time of the Buccaneers, who, as they increased in numbers, extended their enterprises, urged by a kind of necessity, the _West Indies_ not furnishing plunder sufficient to satisfy so many men, whose modes of expenditure were not less profligate than their means of obtaining were violent and iniquitous. [Sidenote: Expedition of the Buccaneers against Panama.] The rendezvous appointed by Morgan for meeting his confederates was distant from any authority which could prevent or impede their operations; and whilst they remained on the coast of _Hispaniola_, he employed men to hunt cattle, and cure meat. He also sent vessels to collect maize, at the settlements on the _Tierra Firma_. Specific articles of agreement were drawn up and subscribed to, for the distribution of plunder. Morgan, as commander in chief, was to receive one hundredth part; each captain was to have eight shares; provision was stipulated for the maimed and wounded, and rewards for those who should particularly distinguish themselves. [Sidenote: December. They take the Island S^{ta} Katalina.] These matters being settled, on December the 16th, the whole fleet sailed, from _Cape Tiburon_; on the 20th, they arrived at the Island _S^{ta} Katalina_, then occupied by the Spaniards, who had garrisoned it chiefly with criminals sentenced to serve there by way of punishment. Morgan had fully entered into the project of Mansvelt for forming an establishment at _S^{ta} Katalina_, and he was not the less inclined to it now that he considered himself as the head of the Buccaneers. The Island surrendered upon summons. It is related, that at the request of the Governor, in which Morgan indulged him, a military farce was performed; Morgan causing cannon charged only with powder to be fired at the fort, which returned the like fire for a decent time, and then lowered their flag. Morgan judged it would contribute to the success of the proposed expedition against _Panama_, to make himself master of the fort or castle of _San Lorenzo_ at the entrance of the _River Chagre_. For this purpose he sent a detachment of 400 men under the command of an old Buccaneer named Brodely, and in the mean time remained himself with the main body of his forces at _S^{ta} Katalina_, to avoid giving the Spaniards cause to suspect his further designs. [Sidenote: Attack of the Castle at the River Chagre.] The Castle of _Chagre_ was strong, both in its works and in situation, being built on the summit of a steep hill. It was valiantly assaulted, and no less valiantly defended. The Buccaneers were once forced to retreat. They returned to the attack, and were nearly a second time driven back, when a powder magazine in the fort blew up, and the mischief and confusion thereby occasioned gave the Buccaneers opportunity to force entrance through the breaches they had made. The Governor of the castle refused to take quarter which was offered him by the Buccaneers, as did also some of the Spanish soldiers. More than 200 men of 314 which composed the garrison were killed. The loss on the side of the Buccaneers was above 100 men killed outright, and 70 wounded. [Sidenote: 1671. January. March of the Buccaneers across the Isthmus.] On receiving intelligence of the castle being taken, Morgan repaired with the rest of his men from _S^{ta} Katalina_. He set the prisoners to work to repair the Castle of _San Lorenzo_, in which he stationed a garrison of 500 men; he also appointed 150 men to take care of the ships; and on the 18th of January 1671[11], he set forward at the head of 1200 men for _Panama_. One party with artillery and stores embarked in canoes, to mount the _River Chagre_, the course of which is extremely serpentine. At the end of the second day, however, they quitted the canoes, on account of the many obstructions from trees which had fallen in the river, and because the river was at this time in many places almost dry; but the way by land was also found so difficult for the carriage of stores, that the canoes were again resorted to. On the sixth day, when they had expended great part of their travelling store of provisions, they had the good fortune to discover a barn full of maize. They saw many native Indians, who all kept at a distance, and it was in vain endeavoured to overtake some. On the seventh day they came to a village called _Cruz_, the inhabitants of which had set fire to their houses, and fled. They found there, however, fifteen jars of Peruvian wine, and a sack of bread. The village of _Cruz_ is at the highest part of the _River Chagre_ to which boats or canoes, can arrive. It was reckoned to be eight leagues distant from _Panama_. On the ninth day of their journey, they came in sight of the _South Sea_; and here they were among fields in which cattle grazed. Towards evening, they had sight of the steeples of _Panama_. In the course of their march thus far from the Castle of _Chagre_, they lost, by being fired at from concealed places, ten men killed; and as many more were wounded. _Panama_ had not the defence of regular fortifications. Some works had been raised, but in parts the city lay open, and was to be won or defended by plain fighting. According to the Buccaneer account, the Spaniards had about 2000 infantry and 400 horse; which force, it is to be supposed, was in part composed of inhabitants and slaves. [Sidenote: 27th. The City of Panama taken.] January the 27th, early in the morning, the Buccaneers resumed their march towards the city. The Spaniards came out to meet them. In this battle, the Spaniards made use of wild bulls, which they drove upon the Buccaneers to disorder their ranks; but it does not appear to have had much effect. In the end, the Spaniards gave way, and before night, the Buccaneers were masters of the city. All that day, the Buccaneers gave no quarter, either during the battle, or afterwards. Six hundred Spaniards fell. The Buccaneers lost many men, but the number is not specified. [Sidenote: The City burnt.] One of the first precautions taken by Morgan after his victory, was to prevent drunkenness among his men: to which end, he procured to have it reported to him that all the wine in the city had been poisoned by the inhabitants; and on the ground of this intelligence, he strictly prohibited every one, under severe penalties, from tasting wine. Before they had well fixed their quarters in _Panama_, several parts of the city burst out in flames, which spread so rapidly, that in a short time many magnificent edifices built with cedar, and a great part of the city, were burnt to the ground. Whether this was done designedly, or happened accidentally, owing to the consternation of the inhabitants during the assault, has been disputed. Morgan is accused of having directed some of his people to commit this mischief, but no motive is assigned that could induce him to an act which cut off his future prospect of ransom. Morgan charged it upon the Spaniards; and it is acknowledged the Buccaneers gave all the assistance they were able to those of the inhabitants who endeavoured to stop the progress of the fire, which nevertheless continued to burn near four weeks before it was quite extinguished. Among the buildings destroyed, was a factory-house belonging to the Genoese, who then carried on the trade of supplying the Spaniards with slaves from _Africa_. The rapacity, licentiousness, and cruelty, of the Buccaneers, in their pillage of _Panama_, had no bounds. 'They spared,' says the narrative of a Buccaneer named Exquemelin, 'in these their cruelties no sex nor condition whatsoever. As to religious persons and priests, they granted them less quarter than others, unless they procured a considerable sum of money for their ransom.' Morgan sent detachments to scour the country for plunder, and to bring in prisoners from whom ransom might be extorted. Many of the inhabitants escaped with their effects by sea, and went for shelter to the Islands in the _Bay of Panama_. Morgan found a large boat lying aground in the Port, which he caused to be lanched, and manned with a numerous crew, and sent her to cruise among the Islands. A galeon, on board which the women of a convent had taken refuge, and in which money, plate, and other valuable effects, had been lodged, very narrowly escaped falling into their hands. They made prize of several vessels, one of which was well adapted for cruising. This opened a new prospect; and some of the Buccaneers began to consult how they might quit Morgan, and seek their fortunes on the _South Sea_, whence they proposed to sail, with the plunder they should obtain, by the _East Indies_ to _Europe_. But Morgan received notice of their design before it could be put in execution, and to prevent such a diminution of his force, he ordered the masts of the ship to be cut away, and all the boats or vessels lying at _Panama_ which could suit their purpose, to be burnt. [Sidenote: Feb. 24th. The Buccaneers depart from Panama.] The old city of _Panama_ is said to have contained 7000 houses, many of which were magnificent edifices built with cedar. On the 24th of February, Morgan and his men departed from its ruins, taking with them 175 mules laden with spoil, and 600 prisoners, some of them carrying burthens, and others for whose release ransom was expected. Among the latter were many women and children. These poor creatures were designedly caused to suffer extreme hunger and thirst, and kept under apprehensions of being carried to _Jamaica_ to be sold as slaves, that they might the more earnestly endeavour to procure money to be brought for their ransom. When some of the women, upon their knees and in tears, begged of Morgan to let them return to their families, his answer to them was, that 'he came not there to listen to cries and lamentations, but to seek money,' Morgan's thirst for money was not restrained to seeking it among his foes. He had a hand equally ready for that of his friends. Neither did he think his friends people to be trusted; for in the middle of the march back to _Chagre_, he drew up his men and caused them to be sworn, that they had not reserved or concealed any plunder, but had delivered all fairly into the common stock. This ceremony, it seems, was not uncustomary. 'But Captain Morgan having had experience that those loose fellows would not much stickle to swear falsely in such a case, he commanded every one to be searched; and that it might not be esteemed an affront, he permitted himself to be first searched, even to the very soles of his shoes. The French Buccaneers who had engaged on this expedition with Morgan, were not well satisfied with this new custom of searching; but their number being less than that of the English, they were forced to submit.' On arriving at _Chagre_, a division was made. The narrative says, 'every person received his portion, or rather what part thereof Captain Morgan was pleased to give him. For so it was, that his companions, even those of his own nation, complained of his proceedings; for they judged it impossible that, of so many valuable robberies, no greater share should belong to them than 200 pieces of eight _per_ head. But Captain Morgan was deaf to these, and to many other complaints of the same kind.' As Morgan was not disposed to allay the discontents of his men by coming to a more open reckoning with them, to avoid having the matter pressed upon him, he determined to withdraw from his command, 'which he did without calling any council, or bidding any one adieu; but went secretly on board his own ship, and put out to sea without giving notice, being followed only by three or four vessels of the whole fleet, who it is believed went shares with him in the greatest part of the spoil.' The rest of the Buccaneer vessels soon separated. Morgan went to _Jamaica_, and had begun to levy men to go with him to the Island _S^{ta} Katalina_, which he purposed to hold as his own, and to make it a common place of refuge for pirates; when the arrival of a new Governor at _Jamaica_, Lord John Vaughan, with orders to enforce the late treaty with _Spain_, obliged him to relinquish his plan. [Sidenote: Exquemelin's History of the Buccaneers of America.] The foregoing account of the destruction of _Panama_ by Morgan, is taken from a History of the Buccaneers of America, written originally in the Dutch language by a Buccaneer named Exquemelin, and published at Amsterdam in 1678, with the title of _De Americaensche Zee Roovers_. Exquemelin's book contains only partial accounts of the actions of some of the principal among the Buccaneers. He has set forth the valour displayed by them in the most advantageous light; but generally, what he has related is credible. His history has been translated into all the European languages, but with various additions and alterations by the translators, each of whom has inclined to maintain the military reputation of his own nation. The Spanish translation is entitled _Piratas_, and has the following short complimentary Poem prefixed, addressed to the Spanish editor and emendator:-- De Agamenôn cantó la vida Homero Y Virgilio de Eneas lo piadoso Camoes de Gama el curso presurosso Gongora el brio de Colon Velero. Tu, O Alonso! mas docto y verdadoro, Descrives del America ingenioso Lo que assalta el Pirata codicioso: Lo que defiende el Español Guerrero. The French translation is entitled _Les Avanturiers qui se sont signalez dans les Indes_, and contains actions of the French Flibustiers which are not in Exquemelin. The like has been done in the English translation, which has for title _The Bucaniers of America_. The English translator, speaking of the sacking of _Panama_, has expressed himself with a strange mixture of boasting and compunctious feeling. This account, he says, contains the unparalleled and bold exploits of Sir Henry Morgan, written by one of the Buccaneers who was present at those tragedies. It has been remarked, that the treaty of _America_ furnishes an apology for the enterprises of the Buccaneers previous to its notification; it being so worded as to admit an inference that the English and Spaniards were antecedently engaged in a continual war in _America_. [Sidenote: 1671.] The new Governor of _Jamaica_ was authorized and instructed to proclaim a general pardon, and indemnity from prosecution, for all piratical offences committed to that time; and to grant 35 acres of land to every Buccaneer who should claim the benefit of the proclamation, and would promise to apply himself to planting; a measure from which the most beneficial effects might have been expected, not to the British colonists only, but to all around, in turning a number of able men from destructive occupations to useful and productive pursuits, if it had not been made subservient to sordid views. The author of the _History of Jamaica_ says, 'This offer was intended as a lure to engage the Buccaneers to come into port with their effects, that the Governor might, and which he was directed to do, take from them the tenths and fifteenths of their booty as the dues of the Crown [and of the Colonial Government] for granting them commissions.' Those who had neglected to obtain commissions would of course have to make their peace by an increased composition. In consequence of this scandalous procedure, the Jamaica Buccaneers, to avoid being so taxed, kept aloof from _Jamaica_, and were provoked to continue their old occupations. Most of them joined the French Flibustiers at _Tortuga_. Some were afterwards apprehended at _Jamaica_, where they were brought to trial, condemned as pirates, and executed. [Sidenote: 1672.] A war which was entered into by _Great Britain_ and _France_ against _Holland_, furnished for a time employment for the Buccaneers and Flibustiers, and procured the Spaniards a short respite. [Sidenote: 1673. Flibustiers shipwrecked at Porto Rico;] In 1673, the French made an attempt to take the Island of _Curaçao_ from the Dutch, and failed. M. d'Ogeron, the Governor of _Tortuga_, intended to have joined in this expedition, for which purpose he sailed in a ship named l'Ecueil, manned with 300 Flibustiers; but in the night of the 25th of February, she ran aground among some small islands and rocks, near the North side of the Island _Porto Rico_. The people got safe to land, but were made close prisoners by the Spaniards. After some months imprisonment, M. d'Ogeron, with three others, made their escape in a canoe, and got back to _Tortuga_. The Governor General over the French West-India Islands at that time, was a M. de Baas, who sent to _Porto Rico_ to demand the deliverance of the French detained there prisoners. The Spanish Governor of _Porto Rico_ required 3000 pieces of eight to be paid for expences incurred. De Baas was unwilling to comply with the demand, and sent an agent to negociate for an abatement in the sum; but they came to no agreement. M. d'Ogeron in the mean time collected five hundred men in _Tortuga_ and _Hispaniola_, with whom he embarked in a number of small vessels to pass over to _Porto Rico_, to endeavour the release of his shipwrecked companions; but by repeated tempests, several of his flotilla were forced back, and he reached _Porto Rico_ with only three hundred men. [Sidenote: And put to death by the Spaniards.] On their landing, the Spanish Governor put to death all his French prisoners, except seventeen of the officers. Afterwards in an engagement with the Spaniards, D'Ogeron lost seventeen men, and found his strength not sufficient to force the Spaniards to terms; upon which he withdrew from _Porto Rico_, and returned to _Tortuga_. The seventeen French officers that were spared in the massacre of the prisoners, the Governor of _Porto Rico_ put on board a vessel bound for the _Tierra Firma_, with the intention of transporting them to _Peru_; but from that fate they were delivered by meeting at sea with an English Buccaneer cruiser. Thus, by the French Governor General disputing about a trifling balance, three hundred of the French Buccaneers, whilst employed for the French king's service under one of his officers, were sacrificed. CHAP. VII. _=Thomas Peche=. Attempt of =La Sound= to cross the =Isthmus of America=. Voyage of =Antonio de Vea= to the =Strait of Magalhanes=. Various Adventures of the Buccaneers, in the =West Indies=, to the year 1679._ [Sidenote: 1673. Thomas Peche.] In 1673, Thomas Peche, an Englishman, fitted out a ship in _England_ for a piratical voyage to the _South Sea_ against the Spaniards. Previous to this, Peche had been many years a Buccaneer in the _West Indies_, and therefore his voyage to the _South Sea_ is mentioned as a Buccaneer expedition; but it was in no manner connected with any enterprise in or from the _West Indies_. The only information we have of Peche's voyage is from a Spanish author, _Seixas y Lovera_; and by that it may be conjectured that Peche sailed to the _Aleutian Isles_.[12] [Sidenote: 1675.] About this time the French West-India Company was suppressed; but another Company was at the same time erected in its stead, and under the unpromising title of _Compagnie des Fermiers du domaine d'Occident_. [Sidenote: La Sound attempts to cross the Isthmus.] Since the plundering of _Panama_, the imaginations of the Buccaneers had been continually running on expeditions to the _South Sea_. This was well known to the Spaniards, and produced many forebodings and prophecies, in _Spain_ as well as in _Peru_, of great invasions both by sea and land. The alarm was increased by an attempt of a French Buccaneer, named La Sound, with a small body of men, to cross over land to the _South Sea_. La Sound got no farther than the town of _Cheapo_, and was driven back. Dampier relates, 'Before my going to the _South Seas_, I being then on board a privateer off _Portobel_, we took a packet from _Carthagena_. We opened a great many of the merchants' letters, several of which informed their correspondents of a certain prophecy that went about _Spain_ that year, the tenor of which was, _That the English privateers in the West Indies would that year open a door into the South Seas_.' [Sidenote: Voyage of Ant. de Vea to the Strait of Magalhanes.] In 1675, it was reported and believed in _Peru_, that strange ships, supposed to be Pirates, had been seen on the coast of _Chili_, and it was apprehended that they designed to form an establishment there. In consequence of this information or rumour, the Viceroy sent a ship from _Peru_, under the command of Don Antonio de Vea, accompanied with small barks as tenders, to reconnoitre the _Gulf de la Santissima Trinidada_, and to proceed thence to the West entrance of the _Strait of Magalhanes_. De Vea made examination at those places, and was convinced, from the poverty of the land, that no settlement of Europeans could be maintained there. One of the Spanish barks, with a crew of sixteen men, was wrecked on the small Islands called _Evangelists_, at the West entrance of the _Strait_. De Vea returned to _Callao_ in April 1676[13]. [Sidenote: 1676.] The cattle in _Hispaniola_ had again multiplied so much as to revive the business of hunting and the _boucan_. In 1676, some French who had habitations in the _Peninsula of Samana_ (the NE part of _Hispaniola_) made incursions on the Spaniards, and plundered one of their villages. Not long afterwards, the Spaniards learnt that in _Samana_ there were only women and children, the men being all absent on the chace; and that it would be easy to surprise not only the habitations, but the hunters also, who had a boucan at a place called the _Round Mountain_. [Sidenote: Massacre of the French in Samana.] This the Spaniards executed, and with such full indulgence to their wish to extirpate the French in _Hispaniola_, that they put to the sword every one they found at both the places. The French, in consequence of this misfortune, strengthened their fortifications at _Cape François_, and made it their principal establishment in the Island. [Sidenote: 1678. French Fleet wrecked on the Isles de Aves.] In 1678, the French again undertook an expedition against the Dutch Island _Curaçao_, with a large fleet of the French king's ships, under the command of Admiral the Count d'Etrées. The French Court were so earnest for the conquest of _Curaçao_, to wipe off the disgrace of the former failure, that the Governor of _Tortuga_ was ordered to raise 1200 men to join the Admiral d'Etrées. The king's troops within his government did not exceed 300 men; nevertheless, the Governor collected the number required, the Flibustiers willingly engaging in the expedition. Part of them embarked on board the king's ships, and part in their own cruising vessels. By mistake in the navigation, d'Etrées ran ashore in the middle of the night on some small Isles to the East of _Curaçao_, called _de Aves_, which are surrounded with breakers, and eighteen of his ships, besides some of the Flibustier vessels, were wrecked. The crews were saved, excepting about 300 men. The _Curaçao_ expedition being thus terminated, the Flibustiers who had engaged in it, after saving as much as they could of the wrecks, went on expeditions of their own planning, to seek compensation for their disappointment and loss. [Sidenote: Granmont.] Some landed on _Cuba_, and pillaged _Puerto del Principe_. One party, under Granmont, a leader noted for the success of his enterprises, went to the Gulf of _Venezuela_, and the ill-fated towns _Maracaibo_ and _Gibraltar_ were again plundered; but what the Buccaneers obtained was not of much value. In August this year, _France_ concluded a treaty of peace with _Spain_ and _Holland_. The Government in _Jamaica_ had by this time relapsed to its former propensities, and again encouraged the Buccaneers, and shared in their gains. One crew of Buccaneers carried there a vessel taken from the Spaniards, the cargo of which produced for each man's share to the value of 400_l._ After disposing of the cargo, they burnt the vessel; and 'having paid the Governor his duties, they embarked for _England_, where,' added the author, 'some of them live in good reputation to this day[14].' As long as the war had lasted between _France_ and _Spain_, the French Buccaneers had the advantage of being lawful privateers. An English Buccaneer relates, 'We met a French private ship of war, mounting eight guns, who kept in our company some days. Her commission was only for three months. We shewed him our commission, which was for three years to come. This we had purchased at a cheap rate, having given for it only ten pieces of eight; but the truth of the thing was, that our commission was made out at first only for three months, the same date as the Frenchman's, whereas among ourselves we contrived to make it that it should serve for three years, for with this we were resolved to seek our fortunes.' Whenever _Spain_ was at war with another European Power, adventurers of any country found no difficulty in the _West Indies_ in procuring commissions to war against the Spaniards; with which commission, and carrying aloft the flag of the nation hostile to _Spain_, they assumed that they were lawful enemies. Such pretensions did them small service if they fell into the hands of the Spaniards; but they were allowed in the ports of neutral nations, which benefited by being made the mart of the Buccaneer prize goods; and the Buccaneers thought themselves well recompensed in having a ready market, and the security of the port. [Sidenote: 1678. Darien Indians.] The enterprises of the Buccaneers on the _Tierra Firma_ and other parts of the American Continent, brought them into frequent intercourse with the natives of those parts, and produced friendships, and sometimes alliances against the Spaniards, with whom each were alike at constant enmity. But there sometimes happened disagreements between them and the natives. The Buccaneers, if they wanted provisions or assistance from the Indians, had no objection to pay for it when they had the means; nor had the natives objection to supply them on that condition, and occasionally out of pure good will. The Buccaneers nevertheless, did not always refrain from helping themselves, with no other leave than their own. Sometime before Morgan's expedition to _Panama_, they had given the Indians of _Darien_ much offence; but shortly after that expedition, they were reconciled, in consequence of which, the Darien Indians had assisted La Sound. In 1678, they gave assistance to another party of Flibustiers which went against _Cheapo_, under a French Captain named Bournano, and offered to conduct them to a place called _Tocamoro_, where they said the Spaniards had much gold. Bournano did not think his force sufficient to take advantage of their offer, but promised he would come again and be better provided. [Sidenote: 1679. Porto Bello surprised by the Buccaneers.] In 1679, three Buccaneer vessels (two of them English, and one French) joined in an attempt to plunder _Porto Bello_. They landed 200 men at such a distance from the town, that it occupied them three nights in travelling, for during the day they lay concealed in the woods, before they reached it. Just as they came to the town, they were discovered by a negro, who ran before to give intelligence of their coming; but the Buccaneers were so quickly after him, that they got possession of the town before the inhabitants could take any step for their defence, and, being unacquainted with the strength of the enemy, they all fled. The Buccaneers remained in the town collecting plunder two days and two nights, all the time in apprehension that the Spaniards would; 'pour in the country' upon their small force, or intercept their retreat. They got back however to their ships unmolested, and, on a division of the booty, shared 160 pieces of eight to each man. CHAP. VIII. _Meeting of Buccaneers at the =Samballas=, and =Golden Island=. Party formed by the English Buccaneers to cross the =Isthmus=. Some account of the Native Inhabitants of the =Mosquito Shore=._ Immediately after the plundering of _Porto Bello_, a number of Buccaneer vessels, both English and French, on the report which had been made by Captain Bournano, assembled at the _Samballas_, or _Isles of San Blas_, near the coast of _Darien_. One of these vessels was commanded by Bournano. The Indians of _Darien_ received them as friends and allies, but they now disapproved the project of going to _Tocamoro_. The way thither, they said, was mountainous, and through a long tract of uninhabited country, in which it would be difficult to find subsistence; and instead of _Tocamoro_, they advised going against the city of _Panama_. [Sidenote: 1680. Golden Island.] Their representation caused the design upon _Tocamoro_ to be given up. The English Buccaneers were for attacking _Panama_; but the French objected to the length of the march; and on this difference, the English and French separated, the English Buccaneers going to an Island called by them _Golden Island_, which is the most eastern of the _Samballas_, if not more properly to be said to the eastward of all the _Samballas_. Without the assistance of the French, _Panama_ was too great an undertaking. They were bent, however, on crossing the _Isthmus_; and at the recommendation of their Darien friends, they determined to visit a Spanish town named _Santa Maria_, situated on the banks of a river that ran into the _South Sea_. The Spaniards kept a good garrison at _Santa Maria_, on account of gold which was collected from mountains in its neighbourhood. The Buccaneers who engaged in this expedition were the crews of seven vessels, of force as in the following list: Guns Men A vessel of 8 and 97 commanded by John Coxon. -- 25 - 107 ---- Peter Harris. -- 1 - 35 ---- Richard Sawkins. -- 2 - 40 ---- Bart. Sharp. -- 0 - 43 ---- Edmond Cook. -- 0 - 24 ---- Robert Alleston. -- 0 - 20 ---- ---- Macket. It was settled that Alleston and Macket, with 35 men, themselves included, should be left to guard the vessels during the absence of those who went on the expedition, which was not expected to be of long continuance. These matters were arranged at _Golden Island_, and agreement made with the Darien Indians to furnish them with subsistence during the march. William Dampier, a seaman at that time of no celebrity, but of good observation and experience, was among these Buccaneers, and of the party to cross the _Isthmus_; as was Lionel Wafer, since well known for his _Description of the Isthmus of Darien_, who had engaged with them as surgeon. [Sidenote: Account of the Mosquito Indians.] In this party of Buccaneers were also some native Americans, of a small tribe called Mosquito Indians, who inhabited the sea coast on each side of _Cape Gracias a Dios_, one way towards the river _San Juan de Nicaragua_, the other towards the _Gulf of Honduras_, which is called the _Mosquito Shore_. If Europeans had any plea in justification of their hostility against the Spaniards in the _West Indies_, much more had the native Americans. The Mosquito Indians, moreover, had long been, and were at the time of these occurrences, in an extraordinary degree attached to the English, insomuch that voluntarily of their own choice they acknowledged the King of _Great Britain_ for their sovereign. They were an extremely ingenious people, and were greatly esteemed by the European seamen in the _West Indies_, on account of their great expertness in the use of the harpoon, and in taking turtle. The following character of them is given by Dampier: 'These Mosquito Indians,' he says; 'are tall, well made, strong, and nimble of foot; long visaged, lank black hair, look stern, and are of a dark copper complexion. They are but a small nation or family. They are very ingenious in throwing the lance, or harpoon. They have extraordinary good eyes, and will descry a sail at sea, farther than we. For these things, they are esteemed and coveted by all privateers; for one or two of them in a ship, will sometimes maintain a hundred men. When they come among privateers, they learn the use of guns, and prove very good marksmen. They behave themselves bold in fight, and are never seen to flinch, or hang back; for they think that the white men with whom they are, always know better than they do, when it is best to fight; and be the disadvantage never so great, they do not give back while any of their party stand. These Mosquito men are in general very kind to the English, of whom they receive a great deal of respect, both on board their ships, and on shore, either in _Jamaica_, or elsewhere. We always humour them, letting them go any where as they will, and return to their country in any vessel bound that way, if they please. They will have the management of themselves in their striking fish, and will go in their own little canoe, nor will they then let any white man come in their canoe; all which we allow them. For should we cross them, though they should see shoals of fish, or turtle, or the like, they will purposely strike their harpoons and turtle-irons aside, or so glance them as to kill nothing. They acknowledge the King of England for their sovereign, learn our language, and take the Governor of _Jamaica_ to be one of the greatest princes in the world. While they are among the English, they wear good cloaths, and take delight to go neat and tight; but when they return to their own country, they put by all their cloaths, and go after their own country fashion.' In Dampier's time, it was the custom among the Mosquito Indians, when their Chief died, for his successor to obtain a commission, appointing him Chief, from the Governor of _Jamaica_; and till he received his commission he was not acknowledged in form by his countrymen[15]. How would Dampier have been grieved, if he could have foreseen that this simple and honest people, whilst their attachment to the English had suffered no diminution, would be delivered by the British Government into the hands of the Spaniards; which, from all experience of what had happened, was delivering them to certain destruction. Before this unhappy transaction took place, and after the time Dampier wrote, the British Government took actual possession of the Mosquito Country, by erecting a fort, and stationing there a garrison of British troops. British merchants settled among the Mosquito natives, and magistrates were appointed with authority to administer justice. Mosquito men were taken into British pay to serve as soldiers, of which the following story is related in Long's History of _Jamaica_; 'In the year 1738, the Government of _Jamaica_ took into their pay two hundred Mosquito Indians, to assist in the suppression of the Maroons or Wild Negroes. During a march on this service, one of their white conductors shot a wild hog. The Mosquito men told him, that was not the way to surprise the negroes, but to put them on their guard; and if he wanted provisions, they would kill the game equally well with their arrows. They effected considerable service on this occasion, and were well rewarded for their good conduct; and when a pacification took place with the Maroons, they were sent well satisfied to their own country.' In the year 1770, there resided in the _Mosquito Country_ of British settlers, between two and three hundred whites, as many of mixed blood, and 900 slaves. On the breaking out of the war between _Great Britain_ and _Spain_, in 1779, when the Spaniards drove the British logwood cutters from their settlements in the _Bay of Honduras_, the Mosquito men armed and assisted the British troops of the line in the recovery of the logwood settlements. They behaved on that occasion, and on others in which they served against the Spaniards, with their accustomed fidelity. An English officer, who was in the _West Indies_ during that war, has given a description of the Mosquito men, which exactly agrees with what Dampier has said; and all that is related of them whilst with the Buccaneers, gives the most favourable impression of their dispositions and character. It was natural to the Spaniards to be eagerly desirous to get the Mosquito Country and people into their power; but it was not natural that such a proposition should be listened to by the British. Nevertheless, the matter did so happen. When notice was received in the _West Indies_, that a negociation was on foot for the delivery of the _Mosquito Shore_ to _Spain_, the Council at _Jamaica_ drew up a Report and Remonstrance against it; in which was stated, that 'the number of the Mosquito Indians, so justly remarkable for their fixed hereditary hatred to the Spaniards, and attachment to us, were from seven to ten thousand.' Afterwards, in continuation, the Memorial says, 'We beg leave to state the nature of His Majesty's territorial right, perceiving with alarm, from papers submitted to our inspection, that endeavours have been made to create doubts as to His Majesty's just claims to the sovereignty of this valuable and delightful country. The native Indians of this country have never submitted to the Spanish Government. The Spaniards never had any settlement amongst them. During the course of 150 years they have maintained a strict and uninterrupted alliance with the subjects of _Great Britain_. They made a free and formal cession of the dominion of their country to His Majesty's predecessors, acknowledging the King of _Great Britain_ for their sovereign, long before the American Treaty concluded at _Madrid_ in 1670; and consequently, by the eighth Article of that Treaty, our right was declared[16].' In one Memorial and Remonstrance which was presented to the British Ministry on the final ratification (in 1786) of the Treaty, it is complained, that thereby his Majesty had given up to the King of _Spain_ 'the Indian people, and country of the _Mosquito Shore_, which formed the most secure West-Indian Province possessed by _Great Britain_, and which we held by the most pure and perfect title of sovereignty.' Much of this is digression; but the subject unavoidably came into notice, and could not be hastily quitted. Some mercantile arrangement, said to be advantageous to _Great Britain_, but which has been disputed, was the publicly assigned motive to this act. It has been conjectured that a desire to shew civility to the Prime Minister of _Spain_ was the real motive. Only blindness or want of information could give either of these considerations such fatal influence. The making over, or transferring, inhabited territory from the dominion and jurisdiction of one state to that of another, has been practised not always with regard for propriety. It has been done sometimes unavoidably, sometimes justly, and sometimes inexecusably. Unavoidably, when a weaker state is necessitated to submit to the exactions of a stronger. Justly, when the inhabitants of the territory it is proposed to transfer, are consulted, and give their consent. Also it may be reckoned just to exercise the power of transferring a conquered territory, the inhabitants of which have not been received and adopted as fellow subjects with the subjects of the state under whose power it had fallen. The inhabitants of a territory who with their lands are transferred to the dominion of a new state without their inclinations being consulted, are placed in the condition of a conquered people. The connexion of the Mosquito people with _Great Britain_ was formed in friendship, and was on each side a voluntary engagement. That it was an engagement, should be no question. In equity and honour, whoever permits it to be believed that he has entered into an engagement, thereby becomes engaged. The Mosquito people were known to believe, and had been allowed to continue in the belief, that they were permanently united to the British. The Governors of _Jamaica_ giving commissions for the instalment of their chief, the building a fort, and placing a garrison in the country, shew both acceptance of their submission and exercise of sovereignty. Vattel has described this case. He says, 'When a nation has not sufficient strength of itself, and is not in a condition to resist its enemies, it may lawfully submit to a more powerful nation on certain conditions upon which they shall come to an agreement; and the pact or treaty of submission will be afterwards the measure and rule of the rights of each. For that which submits, resigning a right it possessed, and conveying it to another, has an absolute power to make this conveyance upon what conditions it pleases; and the other, by accepting the submission on this footing, engages to observe religiously all the clauses in the treaty. When a nation has placed itself under the protection of another that is more powerful, or has submitted to it with a view of protection; if this last does not effectually grant its protection when wanted, it is manifest that by failing in its engagements it loses the rights it had acquired.' The rights lost or relinquished by _Great Britain_ might possibly be of small import to her; but the loss of our protection was of infinite consequence to the Mosquito people. Advantages supposed or real gained to _Great Britain_, is not to be pleaded in excuse or palliation for withdrawing her protection; for that would seem to imply that an engagement is more or less binding according to the greater or less interest there may be in observing it. But if there had been no engagement, the length and steadiness of their attachment to _Great Britain_ would have entitled them to her protection, and the nature of the case rendered the obligation sacred; for be it repeated, that experience had shewn the delivering them up to the dominion of the Spaniards, was delivering them to certain slavery and death. These considerations possibly might not occur, for there seems to have been a want of information on the subject in the British Ministry, and also a want of attention to the remonstrances made. The Mosquito Country, and the native inhabitants, the best affected and most constant of all the friends the British ever had, were abandoned in the summer of 1787, to the Spaniards, the known exterminators of millions of the native Americans, and who were moreover incensed against the Mosquito men, for the part they had always taken with the British, by whom they were thus forsaken. The British settlers in that country found it necessary, to withdraw as speedily as they had opportunity, with their effects. If the business had been fully understood, and the safety of _Great Britain_ had depended upon abandoning the Mosquito people to their merciless enemies, it would have been thought disgraceful by the nation to have done it; but the national interest being trivial, and the public in general being uninformed in the matter, the transaction took place without attracting much notice. A motion, however, was made in the British House of Lords, 'that the terms of the Convention with _Spain_, signed in July 1786, did not meet the favourable opinion of this House;' and the noble Mover objected to that part of the Convention which related to the surrender of the British possessions on the _Mosquito Shore_, that it was a humiliation, and derogating from the rights of _Great Britain_. The first Article of the Treaty of 1786 says, 'His Britannic Majesty's subjects, and the other Colonists, who have hitherto enjoyed the protection of _England_, shall evacuate the Country of the Mosquitos, as well as the Continent in general, and the Islands adjacent, without exception, situated beyond the line hereafter described, as what ought to be the extent of territory granted by his Catholic Majesty to the English.' In the debate, rights were asserted for _Spain_, not only to what she then possessed on the Continent of _America_, but to parts she had never possessed. Was this want of information, or want of consideration? The word 'granted' was improperly introduced. In truth and justice, the claims of _Spain_ to _America_ are not to be acknowledged rights. They were founded in usurpation, and prosecuted by the extermination of the lawful and natural proprietors. It is an offence to morality and to humanity to pretend that _Spain_ had so clear and just a title to any part of her possessions on the Continent of _America_, as _Great Britain_ had to the _Mosquito_ Country. The rights of the Mosquito people, and their claims to the friendship of _Great Britain_, were not sufficiently made known; and the motion was negatived. It might have been of service in this debate to have quoted Dampier. In conclusion, the case of the Mosquito people deserves, and demands the reconsideration of _Great Britain_. If, on examination, it shall be proved that they have been ungenerously and unjustly treated, it may not be too late to seek to make reparation, which ought to be done as far as circumstances will yet admit. The first step towards this would be, to institute enquiry if there are living any of our forsaken friends, or of their posterity, and what is their present condition. If the Mosquito people have been humanely and justly governed since their separation from _Great Britain_, the enquiry will give the Spaniards cause for triumph, and the British cause to rejoice that evil has not resulted from their act. On the other hand, should it be found that they have shared in the common calamities heaped upon the natives of _America_ by the Spaniards, then, if there yet exist enough of their tribe to form a nation, it would be right to restore them, if practicable, to the country and situation of which their fathers were deprived, or to find them an equivalent; and at any price or pains, to deliver them from oppression. If only few remain, those few should be freed from their bondage, and be liberally provided with lands and maintenance in our own _West-India Islands_. CHAP. IX. _Journey of the Buccaneers across the =Isthmus of America=._ [Sidenote: 1680. April 5th, Buccaneers land on the Isthmus.] On the 5th of April, 1680, three hundred and thirty-one Buccaneers, most of them English, passed over from _Golden Island_, and landed in _Darien_, 'each man provided with four cakes of bread called dough-boys, with a fusil, a pistol, and a hanger.' They began their journey marshalled in divisions, with distinguishing flags, under their several commanders, Bartholomew Sharp and his men taking the lead. Many Darien Indians kept them company as their confederates, and supplied them with plantains, fruit, and venison, for which payment was made in axes, hatchets, knives, needles, beads, and trinkets; all which the Buccaneers had taken care to come well provided with. Among the Darien Indians in company were two Chiefs, who went by the names of Captain Andreas and Captain Antonio. [Sidenote: The First Day's March.] The commencement of their march was through the skirt of a wood, which having passed, they proceeded about a league by the side of a bay, and afterwards about two leagues directly up a woody valley, where was an Indian house and plantation by the side of a river. Here they took up their lodging for the night, those who could not be received in the house, building huts. The Indians were earnest in cautioning them against sleeping in the grass, on account of adders. This first day's journey discouraged four of the Buccaneers, and they returned to the ships. Stones were found in the river, which on being broken, shone with sparks of gold. These stones, they were told, were driven down from the neighbouring mountains by torrents during the rainy season[17]. [Sidenote: Second Day's Journey.] The next morning, at sunrise, they proceeded in their journey, labouring up a steep hill, which they surmounted about three in the afternoon; and at the foot on the other side, they rested on the bank of a river, which Captain Andreas told them ran into the _South Sea_, and was the same by which the town of _Santa Maria_ was situated. They marched afterwards about six miles farther, over another steep hill, where the path was so narrow that seldom more than one man could pass at a time. At night, they took up their lodging by the side of the river, having marched this day, according to their computation, eighteen miles. [Sidenote: 7th. Third Day's Journey.] The next day, April the 7th, the march was continued by the river, the course of which was so serpentine, that they had to cross it almost at every half mile, sometimes up to their knees, sometimes to their middle, and running with a very swift current. About noon they arrived at some large Indian houses, neatly built, the sides of wood of the cabbage-tree, and the roofs of cane thatched over with palmito leaves. The interior had divisions into rooms, but no upper story; and before each house was a large plantain walk. Continuing their journey, at five in the afternoon, they came to a house belonging to a son of Captain Andreas, who wore a wreath of gold about his head, for which he was honoured by the Buccaneers with the title of King Golden Cap. [Sidenote: 8th.] They found their entertainment at King Golden Cap's house so good, that they rested there the whole of the following day. Bartholomew Sharp, who published a Journal of his expedition, says here, 'The inhabitants of _Darien_ are for the most part very handsome, especially the female sex, who are also exceeding loving and free to the embraces of strangers.' This was calumny. Basil Ringrose, another Buccaneer, whose Journal has been published, and who is more entitled to credit than Sharp, as will be seen, says of the Darien women, 'they are generally well featured, very free, airy, and brisk; yet withal very modest.' Lionel Wafer also, who lived many months among the Indians of the _Isthmus_, speaks highly of the modesty, kindness of disposition, and innocency, of the Darien women. [Sidenote: 9th. Fourth Day's Journey.] On the 9th, after breakfast, they pursued their journey, accompanied by the Darien Chiefs, and about 200 Indians, who were armed with bows and lances. They descended along the river, which they had to wade through between fifty and sixty times, and they came to a house 'only here and there.' At most of these houses, the owner, who had been apprised of the march of the Buccaneers, stood at the door, and as they passed, gave to each man a ripe plantain, or some sweet cassava root. If the Buccaneer desired more, he was expected to purchase. Some of the Indians, to count the number of the Buccaneers, for every man that went by dropped a grain of corn. That night they lodged at three large houses, where they found entertainment provided, and also canoes for them to descend the river, which began here to be navigable. [Sidenote: 10th. Fifth Day's Journey.] The next morning, as they were preparing to depart, two of the Buccaneer Commanders, John Coxon and Peter Harris, had some disagreement, and Coxon fired his musket at Harris, who was about to fire in return, but other Buccaneers interposed, and effected a reconciliation. Seventy of the Buccaneers embarked in fourteen canoes, in each of which two Indians also went, who best knew how to manage and guide them down the stream: the rest prosecuted their march by land. The men in the canoes found that mode of travelling quite as wearisome as marching, for at almost every furlong they were constrained to quit their boats to lanch them over rocks, or over trees that had fallen athwart the river, and sometimes over necks of land. At night, they stopped and made themselves huts on a green bank by the river's side. Here they shot wild-fowl. [Sidenote: 11th. Sixth Day's Journey.] The next day, the canoes continued to descend the river, having the same kind of impediments to overcome as on the preceding day; and at night, they lodged again on the green bank of the river. The land party had not kept up with them. Bartholomew Sharp says, 'Our supper entertainment was a very good sort of a wild beast called a _Warre_, which is much like to our English hog, and altogether as good. There are store of them in this part of the world: I observed that the navels of these animals grew upon their backs.' Wafer calls this species of the wild hog, _Pecary_[18]. In the night a small tiger came, and after looking at them some time, went away. The Buccaneers did not fire at him, lest the noise of their muskets should give alarm to the Spaniards at _S^{ta} Maria_. [Sidenote: 12th. Seventh Day's Journey.] The next day, the water party again embarked, but under some anxiety at being so long without having any communication with the party marching by land. Captain Andreas perceiving their uneasiness, sent a canoe back up the river, which returned before sunset with some of the land party, and intelligence that the rest were near at hand. [Sidenote: 13th.] Tuesday the 13th, early in the day, the Buccaneers arrived at a beachy point of land, where another stream from the uplands joined the river. This place had sometimes been the rendezvous of the Darien Indians, when they collected for attack or defence against the Spaniards; and here the whole party now made a halt, to rest themselves, and to clean and prepare their arms. They also made paddles and oars to row with; for thus far down the river, the canoes had been carried by the stream, and guided with poles: but here the river was broad and deep. [Sidenote: 14th.] On the 14th, the whole party, Buccaneers and Indians, making nearly 600 men, embarked in 68 canoes, which the Indians had provided. At midnight, they put to land, within half a mile of the town of _S^{ta} Maria_. [Sidenote: 15th.] In the morning at the break of day, they heard muskets fired by the guard in the town, and a 'drum beating _à travailler_[19].' [Sidenote: Fort of S^{ta} Maria taken.] The Buccaneers put themselves in motion, and by seven in the morning came to the open ground before the Fort, when the Spaniards began firing upon them. The Fort was formed simply with palisadoes, without brickwork, so that after pulling down two or three of the palisadoes, the Buccaneers entered without farther opposition, and without the loss of a man; nevertheless, they acted with so little moderation or mercy, that twenty-six Spaniards were killed, and sixteen wounded. After the surrender, the Indians took many of the Spaniards into the adjoining woods, where they killed them with lances; and if they had not been discovered in their amusement, and prevented, not a Spaniard would have been left alive. It is said in a Buccaneer account, that they found here the eldest daughter of the King of _Darien_, Captain Andreas, who had been forced from her father's house by one of the garrison, and was with child by him; which greatly incensed the father against the Spaniards. The Buccaneers were much disappointed in their expectations of plunder, for the Spaniards had by some means received notice of their intended visit in time to send away almost all that was of value. A Buccaneer says, 'though we examined our prisoners severely, the whole that we could pillage, either in the town or fort, amounted only to twenty pounds weight of gold, and a small quantity of silver; whereas three days sooner, we should have found three hundred pounds weight in gold in the Fort.' [Sidenote: John Coxon chosen Commander.] The majority of the Buccaneers were desirous to proceed in their canoes to the _South Sea_, to seek compensation for their disappointment at _S^{ta} Maria_. John Coxon and his followers were for returning; on which account, and not from an opinion of his capability, those who were for the _South Sea_, offered Coxon the post of General, provided he and his men would join in their scheme, which offer was accepted. It was then determined to descend with the stream of the river to the _Gulf de San Miguel_, which is on the East side of the _Bay of Panama_. The greater part of the Darien Indians, however, separated from them at _S^{ta} Maria_, and returned to their homes. The Darien Chief Andreas, and his son Golden Cap, with some followers, continued with the Buccaneers. Among the people of _Darien_ were remarked some white, 'fairer than any people in Europe, who had hair like unto the finest flax; and it was reported of them that they could see farther in the dark than in the light[20].' The River of _S^{ta} Maria_ is the largest of several rivers which fall into the _Gulf de San Miguel_. Abreast where the town stood, it was reckoned to be twice as broad as the _River Thames_ is at _London_. The rise and fall of the tide there was two fathoms and a half[21]. [Sidenote: April 17th.] April the 17th, the Buccaneers and their remaining allies embarked from _S^{ta} Maria_, in canoes and a small bark which was found at anchor before the town. About thirty Spaniards who had been made prisoners, earnestly entreated that they should not be left behind to fall into the hands of the Indians. 'We had much ado,' say the Buccaneers, 'to find boats enough for ourselves: the Spaniards, however, found or made bark logs, and it being for their lives, made shift to come along with us.' [Sidenote: 18th, They arrive at the South Sea.] At ten that night it was low water, and they stopped on account of the flood tide. The next morning they pursued their course to the sea. CHAP. X. _First Buccaneer Expedition in the =South Sea=._ [Sidenote: 1680. April 19th. In the Bay of Panama. 22d. Island Chepillo.] On the 19th of April, the Buccaneers, under the command of John Coxon, entered the _Bay of Panama_; and the same day, at one of the Islands in the _Bay_, they captured a Spanish vessel of 30 tons, on board of which 130 of the Buccaneers immediately placed themselves, glad to be relieved from the cramped and crowded state they had endured in the canoes. The next day another small bark was taken. The pursuit of these vessels, and seeking among the Islands for provisions, had separated the Buccaneers; but they had agreed to rendezvous at the Island _Chepillo_, near the entrance of the River _Cheapo_. Sharp, however, and some others, wanting fresh water, went to the _Pearl Islands_. The rest got to _Chepillo_ on the 22d, where they found good provision of plantains, fresh water, and hogs; and at four o'clock that same afternoon, they rowed from the Island towards _Panama_. By this time, intelligence of their being in the _Bay_ had reached the city. Eight vessels were lying in the road, three of which the Spaniards hastily equipped, manning them with the crews of all the vessels, and the addition of men from the shore; the whole, according to the Buccaneer accounts, not exceeding 230 men, and not more than one-third of them being Europeans; the rest were mulattoes and negroes. [Sidenote: 23d. Battle with a small Spanish Armament. The Buccaneers victorious.] On the 23d, before sunrise, the Buccaneers came in sight of the city; and as soon as they were descried, the three armed Spanish ships got under sail, and stood towards them. The conflict was severe, and lasted the greater part of the day, when it terminated in the defeat of the Spaniards, two of their vessels being carried by boarding, and the third obliged to save herself by flight. The Spanish Commander fell, with many of his people. Of the Buccaneers, 18 were killed, and above 30 wounded. Peter Harris, one of their Captains, was among the wounded, and died two days after. One Buccaneer account says, 'we were in all 68 men that were engaged in the fight of that day.' Another Buccaneer relates, 'we had sent away the Spanish bark to seek fresh water, and had put on board her above one hundred of our best men; so that we had only canoes for this fight, and in them not above 200 fighting men.' The Spanish ships fought with great bravery, but were overmatched, being manned with motley and untaught crews; whereas the Buccaneers had been in constant training to the use of their arms; and their being in canoes was no great disadvantage, as they had a smooth sea to fight in. [Sidenote: Richard Sawkins.] The valour of Richard Sawkins, who, after being three times repulsed, succeeded in boarding and capturing one of the Spanish ships, was principally instrumental in gaining the victory to the Buccaneers. It gained him also their confidence, and the more fully as some among them were thought to have shewn backwardness, of which number John Coxon, their elected Commander, appears to have been. The Darien Chiefs were in the heat of the battle. [Sidenote: The New City of Panama, four miles Westward of the Old City. The Buccaneers take several Prizes.] Immediately after the victory, the Buccaneers stood towards _Panama_, then a new city, and on a different site from the old, being four miles Westward of the ruins of the city burnt by Morgan. The old city had yet some inhabitants. The present adventurers did not judge their strength sufficient for landing, and they contented themselves with capturing the vessels that were at anchor near the small Islands of _Perico_, in the road before the city. One of these vessels was a ship named the Trinidad, of 400 tons burthen, in good condition, a fast sailer, and had on board a cargo principally consisting of wine, sugar, and sweetmeats; and moreover a considerable sum of money. The Spanish crew, before they left her, had both scuttled and set her on fire, but the Buccaneers took possession in time to extinguish the flames, and to stop the leaks. In the other prizes they found flour and ammunition; and two of them, besides the Trinidad, they fitted up for cruising. Two prize vessels, and a quantity of goods which were of no use to them, as iron, skins, and soap, which the Spaniards at _Panama_ refused to ransom, they destroyed. Besides these, they captured among the Islands some small vessels laden with poultry. Thus in less than a week after their arrival across the _Isthmus_ to the coast of the _South Sea_, they were provided with a small fleet, not ill equipped; and with which they now formed an actual and close blockade by sea, of _Panama_, stationing themselves at anchor in front of the city. [Sidenote: Panama, the new City.] This new city was already considerably larger than old _Panama_ had ever been, its extent being in length full a mile and a half, and in breadth above a mile. The churches (eight in number) were not yet finished. The cathedral church at the Old Town was still in use, 'the beautiful building whereof,' says Ringrose, 'maketh a fair show at a distance, like unto the church of St. Paul's at _London_. Round the city for the space of seven leagues, more or less, all the adjacent country is what they call in the Spanish language, _Savana_, that is to say, plain and level ground, as smooth as a sheet; only here and there is to be seen a small spot of woody land. And every where, this level ground is full of _vacadas_, where whole droves of cows and oxen are kept. But the ground whereon the city standeth, is damp and moist, and of bad repute for health. The sea is also very full of worms, much prejudicial to shipping, for which reason the king's ships are always kept near _Lima_. We found here in one night after our arrival, worms of three quarters of an inch in length, both in our bed-cloaths and other apparel.' [Sidenote: Coxon and his Men return to the West Indies.] Within two or three days after the battle with the Spanish Armadilla, discord broke out among the Buccaneers. The reflections made upon the behaviour of Coxon and some of his followers, determined him and seventy men to return by the River of _S^{ta} Maria_ over the _Isthmus_ to the _North Sea_. Two of the small prize vessels were given them for this purpose, and at the same time, the Darien Chiefs, Captain Andreas and Captain Antonio, with most of their people, departed to return to their homes. Andreas shewed his goodwill towards the Buccaneers who remained in the _South Sea_, by leaving with them a son and one of his nephews. [Sidenote: Richard Sawkins chosen Commander.] On the departure of Coxon, Richard Sawkins was chosen General or Chief Commander. They continued ten days in the road before _Panama_, at the end of which they retired to an Island named _Taboga_, more distant, but whence they could see vessels going to, or coming from, _Panama_. At _Taboga_ they stopped nearly a fortnight, having had notice that a rich ship from _Lima_ was shortly expected; but she came not within that time. Some other vessels however fell into their hands, by which they obtained in specie between fifty and sixty thousand dollars, 1200 packs of flour, 2000 jars of wine, a quantity of brandy, sugar, sweetmeats, poultry, and other provisions, some gunpowder and shot, besides various other articles of merchandise. Among their prisoners, were a number of negro slaves, which was a temptation to the merchants of _Panama_, to go to the ships whilst they lay at _Taboga_, who purchased part of the prize goods, and as many of the negroes as the Buccaneers would part with, giving for a negro two hundred pieces of eight; and they also sold to the Buccaneers such stores and commodities as they were in need of. [Sidenote: May.] Ringrose relates, that in the course of this communication, a message was delivered to their Chief from the Governor of _Panama_, demanding, "why, during a time of peace between _England_ and _Spain_, Englishmen should come into those seas, to commit injury? and from whom they had their commission so to do?" To which message, Sawkins returned answer, 'that he and his companions came to assist their friend the King of _Darien_, who was the rightful Lord of _Panama_, and all the country thereabouts. That as they had come so far, it was reasonable they should receive some satisfaction for their trouble; and if the Governor would send to them 500 pieces of eight for each man, and 1000 for each commander, and would promise not any farther to annoy the Darien Indians, their allies, that then the Buccaneers would desist from hostilities, and go quietly about their business.' By the Spaniards who traded with them, Sawkins learnt that the Bishop of _Panama_ was a person whom he had formerly taken prisoner in the _West Indies_, and sent him a small present as a token of regard; the Bishop sent a gold ring in return. [Sidenote: Island Taboga.] Sawkins would have waited longer for the rich ship expected from _Peru_; but all the live stock within reach had been consumed, and his men became impatient for fresh provisions. 'This _Taboga_,' says Sharp, 'is an exceeding pleasant island, abounding in fruits, such as pine-apples, oranges, lemons, pears, mammees, cocoa-nuts, and others; with a small, but brave commodious fresh river running in it. The anchorage is also clear and good.' [Sidenote: 15th. Island Otoque.] On the 15th of May, they sailed to the Island _Otoque_, at which place they found hogs and poultry; and, the same day, or the day following, they departed with three ships and two small barks, from the Bay of _Panama_, steering Westward for a Spanish town named _Pueblo Nuevo_. In this short distance they had much blowing weather and contrary winds, by which both the small barks, one with fifteen men, the other with seven men, were separated from the ships, and did not join them again. The crew of one of these barks returned over the _Isthmus_ with Coxon's party. The other bark was taken by the Spaniards. [Sidenote: At Quibo.] About the 21st, the ships anchored near the _Island Quibo_; from the North part of which, to the town of _Pueblo Nuevo_ on the main land, was reckoned eight leagues. [Sidenote: Attack of Pueblo Nuevo.] Sawkins, with sixty men, embarked on board the smallest ship, and sailed to the entrance of a river which leads to the town. He there left the ship with a few men to follow him, and proceeded with the rest in canoes up the river by night, having a negro prisoner for pilot. Those left with the care of the ship, 'entered the river, keeping close by the East shore, on which there is a round hill. Within two stones cast of the shore there was four fathoms depth; and within the point a very fine and large river opens. But being strangers to the place, the ship was run aground nigh a rock which lieth by the Westward shore; for the true channel of this river is nearer to the East than to the West shore. The Island _Quibo_ is SSE from the mouth of this river[22].' [Sidenote: Captain Sawkins is killed, and the Buccaneers retreat.] The canoes met with much obstruction from trees which the Spaniards had felled across the river; but they arrived before the town during the night. The Spaniards had erected some works, on which account the Buccaneers waited in their canoes till daylight, and then landed; when Richard Sawkins, advancing with the foremost of his men towards a breastwork, was killed, as were two of his followers. Sharp was the next in command, but he was disheartened by so unfortunate a beginning, and ordered a retreat. Three Buccaneers were wounded in the re-embarkation. In the narrative which Sharp himself published, he says, 'we landed at a _stockado_ built by the Spaniards, where we had a small rencounter with the enemy, who killed us three men, whereof the brave Captain Sawkins was one, and wounded four or five more; besides which we got nothing, so that we found it our best way to retreat down the river again.' The death of Sawkins was a great misfortune to the Buccaneers, and was felt by them as such. One Buccaneer relates, 'Captain Sawkins landing at _Pueblo Nuevo_ before the rest, as being a man of undaunted courage, and running up with a small party to a breastwork, was unfortunately killed. And this disaster occasioned a mutiny amongst our men; for our Commanders were not thought to be leaders fit for such hard enterprises. Now Captain Sharp was left in chief, and he was censured by many, and the contest grew to that degree that they divided into parties, and about 70 of our men fell off from us.' [Sidenote: Imposition practised by Sharp.] Ringrose was not in _England_ when his Narrative was published; and advantage was taken of his absence, to interpolate in it some impudent passages in commendation of Sharp's, valour. In the printed Narrative attributed to Ringrose, he is made to say, 'Captain Sawkins in running up to the breastwork at the head of a few men was killed; a man as valiant and courageous as any could be, and, next unto Captain Sharp, the best beloved of all our company, or the most part thereof.' Ringrose's manuscript Journal has been preserved in the Sloane Collection, at the _British Museum_ (No. 3820[23] of Ayscough's Catalogue) wherein, with natural expression of affection and regard, he says, 'Captain Sawkins was a valiant and generous spirited man, and beloved above any other we ever had among us, which he well deserved.' [Sidenote: May. Sharp chosen Commander.] In their retreat down the river of _Pueblo Nuevo_, the Buccaneers took a ship laden with indigo, butter, and pitch; and burnt two other vessels. When returned to _Quibo_, they could not agree in the choice of a commander. Bartholomew Sharp had a greater number of voices than any other pretender, which he obtained by boasting that he would take them a cruise whereby he did not at all doubt they would return home with not less than a thousand pounds to each man. Sharp was elected by but a small majority. [Sidenote: Some separate, and return to the West Indies.] Between 60 and 70 men who had remained after Coxon quitted the command, from attachment to Captain Sawkins, would not stay to be commanded by Sharp, and departed from _Quibo_ in one of the prize vessels to return over the _Isthmus_ to the _West Indies_; where they safely arrived. All the Darien Indians also returned to the _Isthmus_. One hundred and forty-six Buccaneers remained with Bartholomew Sharp. [Sidenote: The Anchorage at Quibo.] 'On the SE side of the Island _Quibo_ is a shoal, or spit of sand, which stretches out a quarter of a league into the sea[24].' Just within this shoal, in 14 fathoms depth, the Buccaneer ships lay at anchor. The Island abounded in fresh rivers, this being the rainy season. They caught red deer, turtle, and oysters. Ringrose says, 'here were oysters so large that we were forced to cut them into four pieces, each quarter being a good mouthful.' Here were also oysters of a smaller kind, from which the Spaniards collected pearls. They killed alligators at _Quibo_, some above 20 feet in length; 'they were very fearful, and tried to escape from those who hunted them.' Ringrose relates, that he stood under a manchineal tree to shelter himself from the rain, but some drops fell on his skin from the tree, which caused him to break out all over in red spots, and he was not well for a week afterwards. [Sidenote: June.] June the 6th, Sharp and his followers, in two ships, sailed from _Quibo_ Southward for the coast of _Peru_, intending to stop by the way at the _Galapagos Islands_; but the winds prevented them. [Sidenote: Island Gorgona.] On the 17th, they anchored on the South side of the _Island Gorgona_, near the mouth of a river. '_Gorgona_ is a high mountainous Island, about four leagues in circuit, and is distant about four leagues from the Continent. The anchorage is within a pistol-shot of the shore, in depth from 15 to 20 fathoms. At the SW of _Gorgona_ is a smaller Island, and without the same stands a small rock[25].' There were at this time streams of fresh water on every side of the Island. _Gorgona_ being uninhabited, was thought to be a good place of concealment. The Island supplied rabbits, monkeys, turtle, oysters, and birds; which provision was inducement to the Buccaneers, notwithstanding the rains, to remain there, indulging in idleness, till near the end of July, when the weather began to be dry. They killed a snake at _Gorgona_, eleven feet long, and fourteen inches in circumference. [Sidenote: July.] July the 25th, they put to sea. Sharp had expressed an intention to attack _Guayaquil_; but he was now of opinion that their long stay at _Gorgona_ must have occasioned their being discovered by the Spaniards, 'notwithstanding that he himself had persuaded them to stay;' their plan was therefore changed for the attack of places more Southward, where they would be less expected. [Sidenote: Island Plata.] The winds were from the Southward, and it was not till August the 13th, that they got as far as the _Island Plata_. [Sidenote: August.] The only landing at _Plata_ at this time, was on the NE side, near a deep valley, where the ships anchored in 12 fathoms. Goats were on this Island in such numbers, that they killed above a hundred in a day with little labour, and salted what they did not want for present use. Turtle and fish were in plenty. They found only one small spring of fresh water, which was near the landing place, and did not yield them more than 20 gallons in the 24 hours. There were no trees on any part of the Island. [Sidenote: On the Coast of Peru.] From _Plata_ they proceeded Southward. The 25th, near _Cape St. Elena_, they met a Spanish ship from _Guayaquil_ bound to _Panama_, which they took after a short action in which one Buccaneer was killed, and two others were wounded. In this prize they found 3000 dollars. They learnt from their prisoners, that one of the small buccaneer tenders, which had been separated from Sawkins in sailing from the _Bay of Panama_, had been taken by the Spaniards, after losing six men out of seven which composed her crew. [Sidenote: Adventure of a small Crew of Buccaneers.] Their adventure was as follows. Not being able to join their Commander Sawkins at _Quibo_, they sailed to the Island _Gallo_ near the Continent (in about 2° N.) where they found a party of Spaniards, from whom they took three white women. A few days afterwards, they put in at another small Island, four leagues distant from _Gallo_, where they proposed to remain on the lookout, in hopes of seeing some of their friends come that way, as Sawkins had declared it his intention to go to the coast of _Peru_. Whilst they were waiting in this expectation, a Spaniard whom they had kept prisoner, made his escape from them, and got over to the main land. This small buccaneer crew had the imprudence nevertheless to remain in the same quarters long enough to give time for a party of Spaniards to pass over from the main land, which they did without being perceived, and placed themselves in ambuscade with so much advantage, that at one volley they killed six Buccaneers out of the seven: the one remaining became their prisoner. Sharp and his men divided the small sum of money taken in their last prize, and sunk her. Ringrose relates, 'we also punished a Friar and shot him upon the deck, casting him overboard while he was yet alive. I abhorred such cruelties, yet was forced to hold my tongue.' It is not said in what manner the Friar had offended, and Sharp does not mention the circumstance in his Journal. One of the two vessels in which the Buccaneers cruised, sailed badly, on which account she was abandoned, and they all embarked in the ship named the Trinidad. [Sidenote: September.] On the 4th of September they took a vessel from _Guayaquil_ bound for _Lima_, with a lading of timber, chocolate, raw silk, Indian cloth, and thread stockings. It appears here to have been a custom among the Buccaneers, for the first who boarded an enemy, or captured vessel, to be allowed some extra privilege of plunder. Ringrose says, 'we cast dice for the first entrance, and the lot fell to the larboard watch, so twenty men belonging to that watch, entered her.' They took out of this vessel as much of the cargo as they chose, and put some of their prisoners in her; after which they dismissed her with only one mast standing and one sail, that she should not be able to prosecute her voyage Southward. [Sidenote: October.] Sharp passed _Callao_ at a distance from land, being apprehensive there might be ships of war in the road. October the 26th, he was near the town of _Arica_, when the boats manned with a large party of Buccaneers departed from the ship with intention to attack the town; but, on coming near the shore, they found the surf high, and the whole country appeared to be in arms. [Sidenote: 28th. Ilo.] They returned to the ship, and it was agreed to bear away for _Ilo_, a small town on the coast, in latitude about 17° 40' S. Their stock of fresh water was by this time so reduced, that they had come to an allowance of only half a pint for a man for the day; and it is related that a pint of water was sold in the ship for 30 dollars. They succeeded however in landing at _Ilo_, and obtained there fresh water, wine, fruits, flour, oil, chocolate, sugar, and other provisions. The Spaniards would give neither money nor cattle to have their buildings and plantations spared, and the Buccaneers committed all the mischief they could. [Sidenote: December. Shoals of Anchovies.] From _Ilo_ they proceeded Southward. December the 1st, in the night, being in latitude about 31°, they found themselves in white water, like banks or breakers, which extended a mile or more in length; but they were relieved from their alarm by discovering that what they had apprehended to be rocks and breakers was a large shoal of anchovies. [Sidenote: On the Coast of Peru. La Serena plundered and burnt.] December the 3d, they landed at the town of _La Serena_, which they entered without opposition. Some Spaniards came to negociate with them to ransom the town from being burnt, for which they agreed to pay 95,000 pieces of eight; but the money came not at the time appointed, and the Buccaneers had reason to suspect the Spaniards intended to deceive them. [Sidenote: Attempt of the Spaniards to burn the Ship.] Ringrose relates, that a man ventured to come in the night from the shore, on a float made of a horse's hide blown up like a bladder. 'He being arrived at the ship, went under the stern and crammed oakum and brimstone and other combustible matter between the rudder and the stern-post. Having done this, he fired it with a match, so that in a small time our rudder was on fire, and all the ship in a smoke. Our men, both alarmed and amazed with this smoke, ran up and down the ship, suspecting the prisoners to have fired the vessel, thereby to get their liberty and seek our destruction. At last they found out where the fire was, and had the good fortune to quench it before its going too far. After which we sent the boat ashore, and found both the hide afore-mentioned, and the match burning at both ends, whereby we became acquainted with the whole matter.' By the _La Serena_ expedition they obtained five hundred pounds weight of silver. One of the crew died in consequence of hard drinking whilst on shore. They released all their prisoners here, except a pilot; after which, they stood from the Continent for _Juan Fernandez_. In their approach to that Island, it is remarked by Ringrose, that they saw neither bird, nor fish; and this being noticed to the pilot, he made answer, that he had many times sailed by _Juan Fernandez_, and had never seen either fish or fowl whilst at sea in sight of the Island. [Sidenote: Island Juan Fernandez.] On Christmas day, they anchored in a Bay at the South part of _Juan Fernandez_; but finding the winds SE and Southerly, they quitted that anchorage, and went to a Bay on the North side of the Island, where they cast anchor in 14 fathoms, so near to the shore that they fastened the end of another cable from the ship to the trees; being sheltered by the land from ESE round by the South and West, and as far as NbW[26]. Their fastenings, however, did not hold the ship against the strong flurries that blew from the land, and she was twice forced to sea; but each time recovered the anchorage without much difficulty. [Sidenote: 1681. January.] The shore of this bay was covered with seals and sea lions, whose noise and company were very troublesome to the men employed in filling fresh water. The seals coveted to lie where streams of fresh water ran into the sea, which made it necessary to keep people constantly employed to beat them off. Fish were in the greatest plenty; and innumerable sea birds had their nests near the shore, which makes the remark of Ringrose on approaching the Island the more extraordinary. Craw-fish and lobsters were in abundance; and on the Island itself goats were in such plenty, that, besides what they eat during their stay, they killed about a hundred for salting, and took away as many alive. [Sidenote: Sharp deposed from the Command. Watling elected Commander.] Here new disagreements broke out among the Buccaneers. Some wished to sail immediately homeward by the _Strait of Magalhanes_; others desired to try their fortune longer in the _South Sea_. Sharp was of the party for returning home; but in the end the majority deposed him from the command, and elected for his successor John Watling, 'an old privateer, and esteemed a stout seaman.' Articles were drawn up in writing between Watling and the crew, and subscribed. One Narrative says, 'the true occasion of the grudge against Sharp was, that he had got by these adventures almost a thousand pounds, whereas many of our men were scarce worth a groat; and good reason there was for their poverty, for at the _Isle of Plate_ and other places, they had lost all their money to their fellow Buccaneers at dice; so that some had a great deal, and others, just nothing. Those who were thrifty sided with Captain Sharp, but the others, being the greatest number, turned Sharp out of his command; and Sharp's party were persuaded to have patience, seeing they were the fewest, and had money to lose, which the other party had not.' Dampier says Sharp was displaced by general consent, the company not being satisfied either with his courage or his conduct. Watling began his command by ordering the observance of the Sabbath. 'This day, January the 9th,' says Ringrose, 'was the first Sunday that ever we kept by command since the loss and death of our valiant Commander Captain Sawkins, who once threw the dice overboard, finding them in use on the said day.' [Sidenote: 11th. 12th. They sail from Juan Fernandez.] The 11th, two boats were sent from the ship to a distant part of the Island to catch goats. On the following morning, the boats were seen returning in great haste, and firing muskets to give alarm. When arrived on board, they gave information that three sail, which they believed to be Spanish ships of war, were in sight of the Island, and were making for the anchorage. In half an hour after this notice, the strange ships were seen from the Bay; upon which, all the men employed on shore in watering, hunting, and other occupations, were called on board with the utmost speed; and not to lose time, the cable was slipped, and the ship put to sea. [Sidenote: William, a Mosquito Indian, left on the island.] It happened in this hurry of quitting the Island, that one of the Mosquito Indians who had come with the Buccaneers, and was by them called William, was absent in the woods hunting goats, and heard nothing of the alarm. No time could be spared for search, and the ship sailed without him. This it seems was not the first instance of a solitary individual being left to inhabit _Juan Fernandez_. Their Spanish pilot affirmed to them, that 'many years before, a ship had been cast away there, and only one man saved, who lived alone upon the Island five years, when another ship coming that way, took him off.' The three vessels whose appearance caused them in such haste to quit their anchorage, were armed Spanish ships. They remained in sight of the Buccaneer ship two days, but no inclination appeared on either side to try the event of a battle. The Buccaneers had not a single great gun in their ship, and must have trusted to their musketry and to boarding. [Sidenote: 13th.] On the evening of the 13th after dark, they resigned the honour of the field to the Spaniards, and made sail Eastward for the American coast, with design to attack _Arica_, which place they had been informed contained great riches. [Sidenote: January 26th. Island Yqueque. River de Camarones.] The 26th, they were close to the small Island named _Yqueque_, about 25 leagues to the South of _Arica_, where they plundered a small Indian village of provisions, and took two old Spaniards and two Indians prisoners. This Island was destitute of fresh water, and the inhabitants were obliged to supply themselves from the Continent, at a river named _De Camarones_, 11 Spanish leagues to the North of _Yqueque_. The people on _Yqueque_ were the servants and slaves of the Governor of _Arica_, and were employed by him to catch and dry fish, which were disposed of to great profit among the inland towns of the Continent. The Indians here eat much and often of certain leaves 'which were in taste much like to the bay leaves in England, by the continual use of which their teeth were dyed of a green colour.' [Sidenote: 27th.] The 27th, Watling examined one of the old Spaniards concerning the force at _Arica_; and being offended at his answers, ordered him to be shot, which was done. The same morning they took a small bark from the River _Camarones_, laden with fresh water. [Sidenote: On the Coast of Peru.] In the night of the 28th, Watling with one hundred men departed from the ship in the small prize bark and boats for _Arica_. They put ashore on the mainland about five leagues to the South of _Arica_, before it was light, and remained concealed among rocks all day. [Sidenote: 30th. They attack Arica.] At night, they again proceeded, and at daylight (on the 30th) Watling landed with 92 men, four miles from the town, to which they marched, and gained entrance, with the loss of three men killed, and two wounded. There was a castle or fort, which for their own security they ought immediately to have attacked; but Watling was only intent on making prisoners, until he was incommoded, with more than could be well guarded. This gave the inhabitants who had fled, time to recover from their alarm, and they collected in the Fort. To complete the mistake, Watling at length advanced to attack the fort, where he found resistance more than he expected. [Sidenote: Are Repulsed.] Watling put in practice the expedient of placing his prisoners in front of his own men; but the defenders of the fort were not a whit deterred thereby from firing on the Buccaneers, who were twice repulsed. The Spaniards without, in the mean time, began to make head from all parts; and in a little time the Buccaneers, from being the assailants, found themselves obliged to look to their defence. [Sidenote: Watling killed.] Watling their chief was killed, as were two quarter-masters, the boatswain, and some others of their best men; and the rest thought it necessary to retreat to their boats, which, though harassed the whole way by a distant firing from the Spaniards, they effected in tolerable order, and embarked. In this attack, the Buccaneers lost in killed, and taken prisoners by the Spaniards, 28 men; and of those who got back to the ship, eighteen were wounded. Among the men taken by the Spaniards were two surgeons, to whose care the wounded had been committed. 'We could have brought off our doctors,' says Ringrose, 'but they got to drinking whilst we were assaulting the fort, and when we called to them, they would not come with us.' The Spaniards gave quarter to the surgeons, 'they being able to do them good service in that country: but as to the wounded men taken prisoners, they were all knocked on the head.' The whole party that landed at _Arica_ narrowly escaped destruction; for the Spaniards learnt from the prisoners they took, the signals which had been agreed upon with the men left in charge of the boats; of which information they made such use, that the boats had quitted their station, and set sail to run down to the town; but some Buccaneers who had been most speedy in the retreat, arrived at the sea side just in time to call them back. [Sidenote: Sharp again chosen Commander.] This miscarriage so much disheartened the whole Buccaneer crew, that they made no attempt to take three ships which were at anchor in the road before _Arica_. Sharp was reinstated in the command, because he was esteemed a leader of safer conduct than any other; and every one was willing to quit the _South Sea_, but which it was now proposed they should do by re-crossing the _Isthmus_. [Sidenote: March. Huasco.] They did not, however, immediately steer Northward; but continued to beat up against the wind to the Southward, till the 10th of March, when they landed at _Guasco_ or _Huasco_ (in lat. about 28-1/2°) from which place they carried off 120 sheep, 80 goats, 200 bushels of corn, and filled their jars with fresh water. From _Huasco_ they stood to the North. On the 27th, they passed _Arica_. The Narrative remarks, 'our former entertainment had been so very bad, that we were no ways encouraged to stop there again.' [Sidenote: Ylo.] They landed at _Ylo_, of which Wafer says, 'the _River Ylo_ is situated in a valley which is the finest I have seen in all the coast of _Peru_, and furnished with a multitude of vegetables. A great dew falls here every night.' [Sidenote: April.] April the 16th, they were near the Island _Plata_. By this time new opinions and new projects had been formed. Many of the crew were again willing to try their fortune longer in the _South Sea_; but one party would not continue under the command of Sharp, and others would not consent to choosing a new commander. As neither party would yield, it was determined to separate, and agreed upon by all hands, 'that which party soever upon polling should be found to have the majority, should keep the ship.' The other party was to have the long-boat and the canoes. On coming to a division, Sharp's party proved the most numerous. The minority consisted of forty-four Europeans, two Mosquito Indians, and a Spanish Indian. [Sidenote: Another Party of the Buccaneers return across the Isthmus.] On the forenoon of the 17th, the party in the boats separated from the ship, and proceeded for the _Gulf de San Miguel_, where they landed, and returned over the _Isthmus_ back to the _West Indies_. In this party were William Dampier, and Lionel Wafer the surgeon. Dampier afterwards published a brief sketch of the expedition, and an account of his return across the _Isthmus_, both of which are in the 1st volume of his Voyages. Wafer met with an accidental hurt whilst on the _Isthmus_, which disabled him from travelling with his countrymen, and he remained some months living with the Darien Indians, of whom he afterwards published an entertaining description, with a Narrative of his own adventures among them. [Sidenote: Further Proceedings of Sharp and his Followers.] Sharp and his diminished crew sailed in their ship from the Island _Plata_ Northward to the _Gulf of Nicoya_, where they met with no booty, nor with any adventure worth mentioning. [Sidenote: July.] They returned Southward to the Island _Plata_, and in the way took three prizes: the first, a ship named the San Pedro, from _Guayaquil_ bound for _Panama_, with a lading of cocoa-nuts, and 21,000 pieces of eight in chests, and 16,000 in bags, besides plate. The money in bags and all the loose plunder was divided, each man receiving for his share 234 pieces of eight; whence it may be inferred that their number was reduced to about 70 men. The rest of the money was reserved for a future division. Their second prize was a packet from _Panama_ bound for _Callao_, by which they learnt that in _Panama_ it was believed all the Buccaneers had returned overland to the _West Indies_. The third was a ship named the _San Rosario_, which did not submit to them without resistance, nor till her Captain was killed. She was from _Callao_, laden with wine, brandy, oil, and fruit, and had in her as much money as yielded to each Buccaneer 94 dollars. One Narrative says a much greater booty was missed through ignorance. 'Besides the lading already mentioned, we found in the San Rosario 700 pigs of plate, which we supposed to be tin, and under this mistake, they were slighted by us all, especially by the Captain, who would not by persuasions used by some few be induced to take them into our ship, as we did most of the other things. Thus we left them in the _Rosario_, which we turned away loose into the sea. This, it should seem, was plate, not thoroughly refined and fitted for coin, which occasioned our being deceived. We took only one pig of the seven hundred into our ship, thinking to make bullets of it; and to this effect, or what else our seamen pleased, the greatest part of it was melted and squandered away. Afterwards, when we arrived at _Antigua_, we gave the remaining part (which was about one-third thereof) to a _Bristol_ man, who knew presently what it was; who brought it to _England_, and sold it there for 75_l._ sterling. Thus we parted with the richest booty we got in the whole voyage, through our own ignorance and laziness[27].' The same Narrative relates, that they took out of the Rosario 'a great book full of sea charts and maps, containing an accurate and exact description of all the ports, soundings, rivers, capes, and coasts, of the _South Sea_, and all the navigation usually performed by the Spaniards in that ocean. This book was for its novelty and curiosity presented unto His Majesty on the return of some of the Buccaneers to _England_, and was translated into English by His Majesty's order[28].' [Sidenote: August.] August the 12th, they anchored at the Island _Plata_, whence they departed on the 16th, bound Southward, intending to return by the _Strait of Magalhanes_ or _Strait le Maire_, to the _West Indies_. The 28th, they looked in at _Paita_; but finding the place prepared for defence, they stood off from the coast, and pursued their course Southward, without again coming in sight of land, and without the occurrence of any thing remarkable, till they passed the 50th degree of latitude. [Sidenote: October 12th. By the Western Coast of America, in 50° 50' S.] October the 11th, they were in latitude 49° 54' S, and estimated their distance from the American coast to be 120 leagues. The wind blew strong from the SW, and they stood to the South East. On the morning of the 12th, two hours before day, being in latitude by account 50° 50' S, they suddenly found themselves close to land. The ship was ill prepared for such an event, the fore yard having been lowered to ease her, on account of the strength of the wind. 'The land was high and towering; and here appeared many Islands scattered up and down.' They were so near, and so entangled, that there was no possibility of standing off to sea, and, with such light as they had, they steered, as cautiously as they could, in between some Islands, and along an extensive coast, which, whether it was a larger Island, or part of the Continent, they could not know. [Sidenote: They enter a Gulf.] As the day advanced, the land was seen to be mountainous and craggy, and the tops covered with snow. Sharp says, 'we bore up for a harbour, and steered in Northward about five leagues. On the North side there are plenty of harbours[29].' [Sidenote: Shergall's Harbour.] At 11 in the forenoon they came to an anchor 'in a harbour, in 45 fathoms, within a stone's cast of the shore, where the ship was landlocked, and in smooth water. As the ship went in, one of the crew, named Henry Shergall, fell overboard as he was going into the spritsail top, and was drowned; on which account this was named _Shergall's Harbour_.' The bottom was rocky where the ship had anchored; a boat was therefore sent to look for better anchorage. They did not however shift their birth that day; and during the night, strong flurries of wind from the hills, joined with the sharpness of the rocks at the bottom, cut their cable in two, and they were obliged to set sail. [Sidenote: Another Harbour.] They ran about a mile to another bay, where they let go another anchor, and moored the ship with a fastening to a tree on shore. They shot geese, and other wild-fowl. On the shores they found large muscles, cockles like those in _England_, and limpets: here were also penguins, which were shy and not taken without pursuit; 'they padded on the water with their wings very fast, but their bodies were too heavy to be carried by the said wings.' [Sidenote: 15th.] The first part of the time they lay in this harbour, they had almost continual rain. On the night of the 15th, in a high North wind, the tree to which their cable was fastened gave way, and came up by the root, in consequence of which, the stern of the ship took the ground and damaged the rudder. They secured the ship afresh by fastening the cable to other trees; but were obliged to unhang the rudder to repair. [Sidenote: 18th.] The 18th was a day of clear weather. The latitude was observed 50° 40' S. The difference of the rise and fall of the tide was seven feet perpendicular: the time of high water is not noted. [Sidenote: The Gulf is named the English Gulf. Duke of York's Islands.] The arm of the sea, or gulf, in which they were, they named the _English Gulf_; and the land forming the harbour, the _Duke of York's Island_; 'more by guess than any thing else; for whether it were an Island or Continent was not discovered,' Ringrose says, 'I am persuaded that the place where we now are, is not so great an Island as some Hydrographers do lay it down, but rather an archipelago of smaller Islands. Our Captain gave to them the name of the _Duke of York's Islands_. Our boat which went Eastward, found several good bays and harbours, with deep water close to the shore; but there lay in them several sunken rocks, as there did also in the harbour where the ship lay. These rocks are less dangerous to shipping, by reason they have weeds lying about them.' [Sidenote: Sharp's English Gulf, the Brazo de la Conçepçion of Sarmiento.] From all the preceding description, it appears, that they were at the South part of the Island named _Madre de Dios_ in the Spanish Atlas, which Island is South of the Channel, or Arm of the Sea, named the _Gulf de la S^{ma} Trinidada_; and that Sharp's _English Gulf_ is the _Brazo de la Conçepçion_ of Sarmiento. Ringrose has drawn a sketch of the _Duke of York's Islands_, and one of the _English Gulf_; but which are not worth copying, as they have neither compass, meridian line, scale, nor soundings. He has given other plan's in the same defective manner, on which account they can be of little use. It is necessary however to remark a difference in the plan which has been printed of the _English Gulf_, from the plan in the manuscript. In the printed copy, the shore of the _Gulf_ is drawn as one continued line, admitting no thoroughfare; whereas, in the manuscript plan, there are clear openings leaving a prospect of channels through. [Sidenote: Natives.] Towards the end of October, the weather settled fair. Hitherto they had seen no inhabitants; but on the 27th, a party went from the ship in a boat, on an excursion in search of provisions, and unhappily caught sight of a small boat belonging to the natives of the land. [Sidenote: One of them killed by the Buccaneers.] The ship's boat rowed in pursuit, and the natives, a man, a woman, and a boy, finding their boat would be overtaken, all leapt overboard and swam towards shore. This villainous crew of Buccaneers had the barbarity to shoot at them in the water, and they shot the man dead; the woman made her escape to land; the boy, a stout lad about eighteen years of age, was taken, and with the Indian boat, was carried to the ship. The poor lad thus made prisoner had only a small covering of seal skin. 'He was squint-eyed, and his hair was cut short. The _doree_, or boat, in which he and the other Indians were, was built sharp at each end and flat bottomed: in the middle they had a fire burning for dressing victuals, or other use. They had a net to catch penguins, a club like to our bandies, and wooden darts. This young Indian appeared by his actions to be very innocent and foolish. He could open large muscles with his fingers, which our Buccaneers could scarcely manage with their knives. He was very wild, and would eat raw flesh.' [Sidenote: November.] By the beginning of November the rudder was repaired and hung. Ringrose says, 'we could perceive, now the stormy weather was blown over, much small fry of fish about the ship, whereof before we saw none. The weather began to be warm, or rather hot, and the birds, as thrushes and blackbirds, to sing as sweetly as those in England.' [Sidenote: Native of Patagonia carried away.] On the 5th of November, they sailed out of the _English Gulf_, taking with them their young Indian prisoner, to whom they gave the name of Orson. As they departed, the natives on some of the lands to the Eastward made great fires. At six in the evening the ship was without the mouth of the _Gulf_: the wind blew fresh from NW, and they stood out SWbW, to keep clear of breakers which lie four leagues without the entrance of the _Gulf_ to the South and SSE. Many reefs and rocks were seen hereabouts, on account of which, they kept close to the wind till they were a good distance clear of the land. Their navigation from here to the _Atlantic_ was, more than could have been imagined, like the journey of travellers by night in a strange country without a guide. The weather was stormy, and they would not venture to steer in for the _Strait of Magalhanes_, which they had purposed to do for the benefit of the provision which the shores of the _Strait_ afford of fresh water, fish, vegetables, and wood. They ran to the South to go round the _Tierra del Fuego_, having the wind from the NW, which was the most favourable for this navigation; but they frequently lay to, because the weather was thick. [Sidenote: Passage round Cape Horn.] On the 12th, they had not passed the _Tierra del Fuego_. The latitude according to observation that day was 55° 25', and the course they steered was SSE. [Sidenote: 14th. Appearance like Land. Latitude observed, 57° 50' S.] On the 14th, Ringrose says, 'the latitude was observed 57° 50' S, and on this day we could perceive land, from which at noon we were due West.' They steered EbS, and expected that at daylight the next morning they should be close in with the land; but the weather became cloudy with much fall of snow, and nothing more of it was seen. No longitude or meridian distance is noticed, and it must remain doubtful whether what they took for land was floating ice; or their observation for the latitude erroneous, and that they saw the _Isles of Diego Ramirez_. [Sidenote: Ice Islands.] Three days afterwards, in latitude 58° 30' S, they fell in with Ice Islands, one of which they reckoned to be two leagues in circumference. A strong current set here Southward. They held on their course Eastward so far that when at length they did sail Northward, they saw neither the _Tierra del Fuego_ nor _Staten Island_. [Sidenote: December.] December the 5th, they divided the plunder which had been reserved, each man's share of which amounted to 328 pieces of eight. Their course was now bent for the _West Indies_. [Sidenote: 1682. January.] January the 15th, died William Stephens, a seaman, whose death was attributed to his having eaten three manchineal apples six months before, when on the coast of _New Spain_, 'from which time he wasted away till he became a perfect skeleton.' [Sidenote: Arrive in the West Indies.] January the 28th, 1682, they made the Island of _Barbadoes_, but learnt that the Richmond, a British frigate, was lying in the road. Ringrose and his fellow journalists say, 'we having acted in all our voyage without a commission, dared not be so bold as to put in, lest the said frigate should seize us for pyrateering, and strip us of all we had got in the whole voyage.' They next sailed to _Antigua_; but the Governor at that Island, Colonel Codrington, would not give them leave to enter the harbour, though they endeavoured to soften him by sending a present of jewels to his lady, which, however, were not accepted. Sharp and his crew grew impatient at their uneasy situation, and came to a determination to separate. Some of them landed at _Antigua_; Sharp and others landed at _Nevis_, whence they got passage to _England_. Their ship, which was the Trinidad captured in the _Bay of Panama_, was left to seven men of the company who had lost their money by gaming. The Buccaneer journals say nothing of their Patagonian captive Orson after the ship sailed from his country; and what became of the ship after Sharp quitted her does not appear. [Sidenote: Bart. Sharp and some of his men tried for Piracy.] Bartholomew Sharp, and a few others, on their arrival in _England_, were apprehended, and a Court of Admiralty was held at the _Marshalsea_ in _Southwark_, where, at the instance of the Spanish Ambassador, they were tried for committing acts of piracy in the _South Sea_; but from the defectiveness of the evidence produced, they escaped conviction. One of the principal charges against them was for taking the Spanish ship Rosario, and killing the Captain and another man belonging to her; 'but it was proved,' says the author of the anonymous Narrative, who was one of the men brought to trial, 'that the Spaniards fired at us first and it was judged that we ought to defend ourselves.' Three Buccaneers of Sharp's crew were also tried at _Jamaica_, one of whom was condemned and hanged, 'who,' the narrator says, 'was wheedled into an open confession: the other two stood it out, and escaped for want of witnesses to prove the fact against them.' Thus terminated what may be called the First Expedition of the Buccaneers in the _South Sea_; the boat excursion by Morgan's men in the _Bay of Panama_ being of too little consequence to be so reckoned. They had now made successful experiment of the route both by sea and land; and the Spaniards in the _South Sea_ had reason to apprehend a speedy renewal of their visits. Carlos Enriquez Clerck, who went from _England_ with Captain Narbrough, was at this time executed at _Lima_, on a charge of holding correspondence with the English of _Jamaica_; which act of severity probably is attributable more to the alarm which prevailed in the Government of _Peru_, than to any guilty practices of Clerck. CHAP. XI. _Disputes between the French Government and their West-India Colonies. =Morgan= becomes Deputy Governor of =Jamaica=. =La Vera Cruz= surprised by the Flibustiers. Other of their Enterprises._ [Sidenote: 1680. Proceedings of the Buccaneers in the West Indies. Prohibitions against Piracy by the French Government;] Whilst so many of the English Buccaneers were seeking plunder in the _South Sea_, the French Flibustiers had not been inactive in the _West Indies_, notwithstanding that the French government, after the conclusion of the war with _Spain_, issued orders prohibiting the subjects of _France_ in the _West Indies_ from cruising against the Spaniards. A short time before this order arrived, a cruising commission had been given to Granmont, who had thereupon collected men, and made preparation for an expedition to the _Tierra Firma_; and they did not choose that so much pains should be taken to no purpose. The French settlers generally, were at this time much dissatisfied on account of some regulations imposed upon them by the Company of Farmers, whose privileges and authority extended to fixing the price upon growth, the produce of the soil; and which they exercised upon tobacco, the article then most cultivated by the French in _Hispaniola_, rigorously requiring the planters to deliver it to the Company at the price so prescribed. Many of the inhabitants, ill brooking to live under such a system of robbery, made preparations to withdraw to the English and Dutch settlements; but their discontent on this account was much allayed by the Governor writing a remonstrance to the French Minister, and promising them his influence towards obtaining a suppression of the farming tobacco. Fresh cause of discontent soon occurred, by a monopoly of the French African Slave Trade being put into the hands of a new company, which was named the _Senegal_ Company. [Sidenote: Disregarded by the French Buccaneers.] Granmont and the Flibustiers engaged with him, went to the coast of _Cumana_, where they did considerable mischief to the Spaniards, with some loss, and little profit, to themselves. [Sidenote: 1680-1. Sir Henry Morgan, Deputy Governor of Jamaica. His Severity to the Buccaneers.] In the autumn of this same year, the Earl of Carlisle, who was Governor of _Jamaica_, finding the climate did not agree with his constitution, returned to _England_, and left as his Deputy to govern in _Jamaica_, Morgan, the plunderer of _Panama_, but who was now Sir Henry Morgan. This man had found favour with King Charles II. or with his Ministers, had been knighted, and appointed a Commissioner of the Admiralty Court in _Jamaica_. On becoming Deputy Governor, his administration was far from being favourable to his old associates, some of whom suffered the extreme hardship of being tried and hanged under his authority; and one crew of Buccaneers, most of them Englishmen, who fell into his hands, he sent to be delivered up (it may be presumed that he sold them) to the Spaniards at _Carthagena_. Morgan's authority as Governor was terminated the following year, by the arrival of a Governor from _England_[30]. The impositions on planting and commerce in the French settlements, in the same degree that they discouraged cultivation, encouraged cruising, and the Flibustier party so much increased, as to have little danger to apprehend from any Governor's authority. [Sidenote: 1683.] The matter however did not come to issue, for in 1683, war again broke out between _France_ and _Spain_. But before the intelligence arrived in the _West Indies_, 1200 French Flibustiers had assembled under Van Horn (a native of _Ostend_), Granmont, and another noted Flibustier named Laurent de Graaf, to make an expedition against the Spaniards. [Sidenote: Van Horn, Granmont, and de Graaf, go against La Vera Cruz.] Van Horn had been a notorious pirate, and for a number of years had plundered generally, without shewing partiality or favour to ships of one nation more than to those of another. After amassing great riches, he began to think plain piracy too dangerous an occupation, and determined to reform, which he did by making his peace with the French Governor in _Hispaniola_, and turning Buccaneer or Flibustier, into which fraternity he was admitted on paying entrance. The expedition which he undertook in conjunction with Granmont and de Graaf, was against _La Vera Cruz_ in the _Gulf of Mexico_, a town which might be considered as the magazine for all the merchandise which passed between _New Spain_ and _Old Spain_, and was defended by a fort, said to be impregnable. The Flibustiers sailed for this place with a fleet of ten ships. They had information that two large Spanish ships, with cargoes of cacao, were expected at _La Vera Cruz_ from the _Caraccas_; and upon this intelligence, they put in practice the following expedient. [Sidenote: They surprise the Town by Stratagem.] They embarked the greater number of their men on board two of their largest ships, which, on arriving near _La Vera Cruz_, put aloft Spanish colours, and ran, with all sail set, directly for the port like ships chased, the rest of the Buccaneer ships appearing at a distance behind, crowding sail after them. The inhabitants of _La Vera Cruz_ believed the two headmost ships to be those which were expected from the _Caraccas_; and, as the Flibustiers had contrived that they should not reach the port till after dark, suffered them to enter without offering them molestation, and to anchor close to the town, which they did without being suspected to be enemies. In the middle of the night, the Flibustiers landed, and surprised the fort, which made them masters of the town. The Spaniards of the garrison, and all the inhabitants who fell into their hands, they shut up in the churches, where they were kept three days, and with so little care for their subsistence that several died from thirst, and some by drinking immoderately when water was at length given to them. With the plunder, and what was obtained for ransom of the town, it is said the Flibustiers carried away a million of piastres, besides a number of slaves and prisoners. Van Horn shorty after died of a wound received in a quarrel with De Graaf. The ship he had commanded, which mounted fifty guns, was bequeathed by him to Granmont, who a short time before had lost a ship of nearly the same force in a gale of wind. Some quarrels happened at this time between the French Flibustiers and the English Buccaneers, which are differently related by the English and the French writers. The French account says, that in a Spanish ship captured by the Flibustiers, was found a letter from the Governor of _Jamaica_ addressed to the Governor of the _Havannah_, proposing a union of their force to drive the French from _Hispaniola_. [Sidenote: Story of Granmont and an English Ship.] Also, that an English ship of 30 guns came cruising near _Tortuga_, and when the Governor of _Tortuga_ sent a sloop to demand of the English Captain his business there, the Englishman insolently replied, that the sea was alike free to all, and he had no account to render to any one. For this answer, the Governor sent out a ship to take the English ship, but the Governor's ship was roughly treated, and obliged to retire into port. Granmont had just returned from the _La Vera Cruz_ expedition, and the Governor applied to him, to go with his fifty gun ship to revenge the affront put upon their nation. 'Granmont,' says the Narrator, 'accepted the commission joyfully. Three hundred Flibustiers embarked with him in his ship; he found the Englishman proud of his late victory; he immediately grappled with him and put all the English crew to the sword, saving only the Captain, who he carried prisoner to _Cape François_.' On the merit of this service, his disobedience to the royal prohibitory order in attacking _La Vera Cruz_ was to pass with impunity. The English were not yet sufficiently punished; the account proceeds, 'Our Flibustiers would no longer receive them as partakers in their enterprises, and even confiscated the share they were entitled to receive for the _La Vera Cruz_ expedition.' Thus the French account. If the story of demolishing the English crew is true, the fact is not more absurd than the being vain of such an exploit. If a fifty gun ship will determine to sink a thirty gun ship, the thirty gun ship must in all probability be sunk. The affront given, if it deserves to be called an affront, was not worthy being revenged with a massacre. The story is found only in the French histories, the writers of which it may be suspected were moved to make Granmont deal so unmercifully with the English crew, by the kind of feeling which so generally prevails between nations who are near neighbours. To this it may be attributed that Père Charlevoix, both a good historian and good critic, has adopted the story; but had it been believed by him, he would have related it in a more rational manner, and not with exultation. English writers mention a disagreement which happened about this time between Granmont and the English Buccaneers, on account of his taking a sloop belonging to _Jamaica_, and forcing the crew to serve under him; but which crew found opportunity to take advantage of some disorder in his ship, and to escape in the night[31]. This seems to have been the whole fact; for an outrage such as is affirmed by the French writers, could not have been committed and have been boasted of by one side, without incurring reproach from the other. The French Government was highly offended at the insubordination and unmanageableness of the Flibustiers in _Hispaniola_, and no one was more so than the French King, Louis XIV. Towards reducing them to a more orderly state, instructions were sent to the Governors in the _West Indies_ to be strict in making them observe Port regulations; the principal of which were, that all vessels should register their crew and lading before their departure, and also at their return into port; that they should abstain from cruising in times of peace, and should take out regular commissions in times of war; and that they should pay the dues of the crown, one _item_ of which was a tenth of all prizes and plunder. [Sidenote: Disputes of the French Governors with the Flibustiers of Saint Domingo.] The number of the French Flibustiers in 1684, was estimated to be 3000. The French Government desired to convert them into settlers. A letter written in that year from the French Minister to the Governor General of the French West-India Islands, has this remarkable expression: 'His Majesty esteems nothing more important than to render these vagabonds good inhabitants of _Saint Domingo_.' Such being the disposition of the French Government, it was an oversight that they did not contribute towards so desirable a purpose by making some abatement in the impositions which oppressed and retarded cultivation, which would have conciliated the Colonists, and have been encouragement to the Flibustiers to become planters. But the Colonists still had to struggle against farming the tobacco, which they had in vain attempted to get commuted for some other burthen, and many cultivators of that plant were reduced to indigence. The greediness of the French chartered companies appears in the _Senegal_ Company making it a subject of complaint, that the Flibustiers sold the negroes they took from the Spaniards to whomsoever they pleased, to the prejudice of the interest of the Company. It was unreasonable to expect the Flibustiers would give up their long accustomed modes of gain, sanctioned as they had hitherto been by the acquiescence and countenance of the French Government, and turn planters, under circumstances discouraging to industry. Their number likewise rendered it necessary to observe mildness and forbearance in the endeavour to reform them; but both the encouragement and the forbearance were neglected; and in consequence of their being made to apprehend rigorous treatment in their own settlements, many removed to the British and Dutch Islands. The French Flibustiers were unsuccessful at this time in some enterprises they undertook in the _Bay of Campeachy_, where they lost many men: on the other hand, three of their ships, commanded by De Graaf, Michel le Basque, and another Flibustier named Jonqué, engaged and took three Spanish ships which were sent purposely against them out of _Carthagena_. CHAP. XII. _Circumstances which preceded the Second Irruption of the Buccaneers into the =South Sea=. Buccaneers under =John Cook= sail from =Virginia=; stop at the =Cape de Verde Islands=; at =Sierra Leone=. Origin and History of the Report concerning the supposed Discovery of =Pepys Island=._ The Prohibitions being enforced, determined many, both of the English Buccaneers and of the French Flibustiers, to seek their fortunes in the _South Sea_, where they would be at a distance from the control of any established authority. This determination was not a matter generally concerted. The first example was speedily followed, and a trip to the _South Sea_ in a short time became a prevailing fashion among them. Expeditions were undertaken by different bodies of men unconnected with each other, except when accident, or the similarity of their pursuits, brought them together. [Sidenote: Circumstances preceding the Second Irruption of the Buccaneers into the South Sea.] Among the Buccaneers in the expedition of 1680 to the _South Sea_, who from dislike to Sharp's command returned across the _Isthmus of Darien_ at the same time with Dampier, was one John Cook, who on arriving again in the _West Indies_, entered on board a vessel commanded by a Dutchman of the name of Yanky, which was fitted up as a privateer, and provided with a French commission to cruise against the Spaniards. Cook, being esteemed a capable seaman, was made Quarter-Master, by which title, in privateers as well as in buccaneer vessels, the officer next in command to the Captain was called. Cook continued Quarter-Master with Yanky till they took a Spanish ship which was thought well adapted for a cruiser. Cook claimed to have the command of this ship, and, according to the usage among privateers in such cases, she was allotted to him, with a crew composed of men who volunteered to sail with him. Dampier was of the number, as were several others who had returned from the _South Sea_; division was made of the prize goods, and Cook entered on his new command. [Sidenote: 1683.] This arrangement took place at _Isla Vaca_, or _Isle a Vache_, a small Island near the South coast of _Hispaniola_, which was then much resorted to by both privateers and Buccaneers. It happened at this time, that besides Yanky's ship, some French privateers having legal commissions, were lying at _Avache_, and their Commanders did not contentedly behold men without a commission, and who were but Buccaneers, in the possession of a finer ship than any belonging to themselves who cruised under lawful authority. The occasion being so fair, and remembering what Morgan had done in a case something similar, after short counsel, they joined together, and seized the buccaneer ship, goods, and arms, and turned the crew ashore. A fellow-feeling that still existed between the privateers and Buccaneers, and probably a want of hands, induced a Captain Tristian, who commanded one of the privateers, to receive into his ship ten of the Buccaneers to be part of his crew. Among these were Cook, and a Buccaneer afterwards of greater note, named Edward Davis. Tristian sailed to _Petit Guaves_, where the ship had not been long at anchor, before himself and the greatest part of his men went on shore. Cook and his companions thought this also a fair occasion, and accordingly they made themselves masters of the ship. Those of Tristian's men who were on board, they turned ashore, and immediately taking up the anchors, sailed back close in to the _Isle a Vache_, where, before notice of their exploit reached the Governor, they collected and took on board the remainder of their old company, and sailed away. They had scarcely left the _Isle a Vache_, when they met and captured two vessels, one of which was a ship from _France_ laden with wines. Thinking it unsafe to continue longer in the _West Indies_, they directed their course for _Virginia_, where they arrived with their prizes in April 1683. [Sidenote: August, 1683. Buccaneers under John Cook sail for the South Sea.] In _Virginia_ they disposed of their prize goods, and two vessels, keeping one with which they proposed to make a voyage to the _South Sea_, and which they named the Revenge. She mounted 18 guns, and the number of adventurers who embarked in her, were about seventy, the major part of them old Buccaneers, some of whose names have since been much noted, as William Dampier, Edward Davis, Lionel Wafer, Ambrose Cowley, and John Cook their Captain. August the 23d, 1683, they sailed from the _Chesapeak_. Dampier and Cowley have both related their piratical adventures, but with some degree of caution, to prevent bringing upon themselves a charge of piracy. Cowley pretended that he was engaged to sail in the Revenge to navigate her, but was kept in ignorance of the design of the voyage, and made to believe they were bound for the _Island Hispaniola_; and that it was not revealed to him till after they got out to sea, that instead of to the _West Indies_, they were bound to the coast of _Guinea_, there to seek for a better ship, in which they might sail to the _Great South Sea_. William Dampier, who always shews respect for truth, would not stoop to dissimulation; but he forbears being circumstantial concerning the outset of this voyage, and the particulars of their proceedings whilst in the _Atlantic_; supplying the chasm in the following general terms; "August the 23d, 1683, we sailed from _Virginia_ under the command of Captain Cook, bound for the _South Seas_. I shall not trouble the reader with an account of every day's run, but hasten to the less known parts of the world." [Sidenote: Cape de Verde Islands.] Whilst near the coast of _Virginia_ they met a Dutch ship, out of which they took six casks of wine; and other provisions; also two Dutch seamen, who voluntarily entered with them. [Sidenote: September.] Some time in September they anchored at the _Isle of Sal_, where they procured fish and a few goats, but neither fruits nor good fresh water. Only five men lived on the Island, who were all black; but they called themselves Portuguese, and one was styled the Governor. [Sidenote: Ambergris.] These Portuguese exchanged a lump of ambergris, or what was supposed to be ambergris, for old clothes. Dampier says, 'not a man in the ship knew ambergris, but I have since seen it in other places, and am certain this was not the right; it was of a dark colour, like sheep's dung, very soft, but of no smell; and possibly was goat's dung. Some I afterwards saw sold at the _Nicobars_ in the _East Indies_, was of lighter colour, and very hard, neither had that any smell, and I suppose was also a cheat. Mr. Hill, a surgeon, once shewed me a piece of ambergris, and related to me, that one Mr. Benjamin Barker, a man I have been long well acquainted with, and know to be a very sober and credible person, told this Mr. Hill, that being in the _Bay of Honduras_, he found in a sandy bay upon the shore of an Island, a lump of ambergris so large, that when carried to _Jamaica_, it was found to weigh upwards of 100 _lbs._ When he found it, it lay dry above the mark of the sea at high water, and in it were a great multitude of beetles. It was of a dusky colour, towards black, about the hardness of mellow cheese, and of a very fragrant smell. What Mr. Hill shewed me was some of it, which Mr. Barker had given him[32].' [Sidenote: The Flamingo.] There were wild-fowl at _Sal_; and Flamingos, of which, and their manner of building their nests, Dampier has given a description. The flesh of the Flamingo is lean and black, yet good meat, 'tasting neither fishy nor any way unsavory. A dish of Flamingos' tongues is fit for a Prince's table: they are large, and have a knob of fat at the root which is an excellent bit. When many of them stand together, at a distance they appear like a brick wall; for their feathers are of the colour of new red brick, and, except when feeding, they commonly stand upright, exactly in a row close by each other.' [Sidenote: Cape de Verde Islands.] From the Isle of _Sal_ they went to other of the _Cape de Verde Islands_. At _St. Nicholas_ they watered the ship by digging wells, and at _Mayo_ they procured some provisions. They afterwards sailed to the Island _St. Jago_, but a Dutch ship was lying at anchor in _Port Praya_, which fired her guns at them as soon as they came within reach of shot, and the Buccaneers thought it prudent to stand out again to sea. [Sidenote: November. Coast of Guinea.] They next sailed to the coast of _Guinea_, which they made in the beginning of November, near _Sierra Leone_. A large ship was at anchor in the road, which proved to be a Dane. On sight of her, and all the time they were standing into the road, all the Buccaneer crew, except a few men to manage the sails, kept under deck; which gave their ship the appearance of being a weakly manned merchant-vessel. When they drew near the Danish ship, which they did with intention to board her, the Buccaneer Commander, to prevent suspicion, gave direction in a loud voice to the steersman to put the helm one way; and, according to the plan preconcerted, the steersman put it the contrary, so that their vessel seemed to fall on board the Dane through mistake. By this stratagem, they surprised, and, with the loss of five men, became masters of a ship mounting 36 guns, which was victualled and stored for a long voyage. This achievement is related circumstantially in Cowley's manuscript Journal[33]; but in his published account he only says, 'near Cape _Sierra Leone_, we alighted on a new ship of 40 guns, which we boarded and carried her away.' [Sidenote: Sherborough River.] They went with their prize to a river South of the _Sierra Leone_, called the _Sherborough_, to which they were safely piloted through channels among shoals, by one of the crew who had been there before. At the River _Sherborough_ there was then an English factory, but distant from where they anchored. Near them was a large town inhabited by negroes, who traded freely, selling them rice, fowls, plantains, sugar-canes, palm-wine, and honey. The town was skreened from shipping by a grove of trees. The Buccaneers embarked here all in their new ship, and named her the Batchelor's Delight. Their old ship they burnt, 'that she might tell no tales,' and set their prisoners on shore, to shift as well as they could for themselves. They sailed from the coast of Guinea in the middle of November, directing their course across the _Atlantic_ towards the _Strait of Magalhanes_. [Sidenote: January, 1684.] On January the 28th, 1684, they had sight of the Northernmost of the Islands discovered by Captain John Davis in 1592, (since, among other appellations, called the _Sebald de Weert Islands_.) From the circumstance of their falling in with this land, originated the extraordinary report of an Island being discovered in the _Southern Atlantic Ocean_ in lat. 47° S, and by Cowley named _Pepys Island_; which was long believed to exist, and has been sought after by navigators of different European nations, even within our own time. The following are the particulars which caused so great a deception. [Sidenote: History of the Report of a Discovery named Pepys Island.] Cowley says, in his manuscript Journal, 'January 1683: This month we were in latitude 47° 40', where we espied an Island bearing West of us, and bore away for it, but being too late we lay by all night. The Island seemed very pleasant to the eye, with many woods. I may say the whole Island was woods, there being a rock above water to the Eastward of it with innumerable fowls. I sailed along that Island to the Southward, and about the SW side of the Island there seemed to me to be a good place for ships to ride. The wind blew fresh, and they would not put the boat out. Sailing a little further, having 26 and 27 fathoms water, we came to a place where we saw the weeds ride, and found only seven fathoms water and all rocky ground, therefore we put the ship about: but the harbour seemed a good place for ships to ride in. There seemed to me harbour for 500 sail of shipping, the going in but narrow, and the North side of the entrance shallow that I could see: but I think there is water enough on the South side. I would have had them stand upon a wind all night; but they told me they did not come out to go upon discovery. We saw likewise another Island by this, which made me to think them the _Sibble D'wards_[34].' The latitude given by Cowley is to be attributed to his ignorance, and to this part of his narrative being composed from memory, which he acknowledges, though it is not so stated in the printed Narrative. His describing the land to be covered with wood, is sufficiently accounted for by the appearance it makes at a distance, which in the same manner has deceived other voyagers. Pernety, in his Introduction to M. de Bougainville's Voyage to the _Malouines_ (by which name the French Voyagers have chosen to call _John Davis's Islands_) says, 'As to wood, we were deceived by appearances in running along the coast of the _Malouines_: we thought we saw some, but on landing, these appearances were discovered to be only tall bulrushes with large flat leaves, such as are called corn flags[35].' The Editor of Cowley's Journal, William Hack, might possibly believe from the latitude mentioned by Cowley, that the land seen by him was a new discovery. To give it a less doubtful appearance, he dropped the 40 minutes of latitude, and also Cowley's conjecture that the land was the _Sebald de Weerts_; and with this falsification of the Journal, he took occasion to compliment the Honourable Mr. Pepys, who was then Secretary of the Admiralty, by putting his name to the land, giving as Cowley's words, 'In the latitude of 47°, we saw land, the same being an Island not before known. I gave it the name of _Pepys Island_.' Hack embellished this account with a drawing of _Pepys Island_, in which is introduced an _Admiralty Bay_, and _Secretary's Point_. The account which Dampier has given of their falling in with this land, would have cleared up the whole matter, but for a circumstance which is far more extraordinary than any yet mentioned, which is, that it long escaped notice, and seems never to have been generally understood, that Dampier and Cowley were at this time in the same ship, and their voyage thus far the same. Dampier says, 'January the 28th (1683-4) we made the _Sebald de Weerts_. They are three rocky barren Islands without any tree, only some bushes growing on them. The two Northernmost lie in 51° S, the other in 51° 20' S. We could not come near the two Northern Islands, but we came close by the Southern; but we could not obtain soundings till within two cables' length of the shore, and there found the bottom to be foul rocky ground[36].' In consequence of the inattention, or oversight, in not perceiving that Dampier and Cowley were speaking of the same land, Hack's ingenious adulation of the Secretary of the Admiralty flourished a full century undetected; a _Pepys Island_ being all the time admitted in the charts. [Sidenote: Shoals of small red Lobsters.] Near these Islands the variation was observed 23° 10' Easterly. They passed through great shoals of small red lobsters, 'no bigger than the top of a man's little finger, yet all their claws, both great and small, were like a lobster. I never saw,' says Dampier, 'any of this sort of fish naturally red, except here.' The winds blew hard from the Westward, and they could not fetch the _Strait of Magalhanes_. [Sidenote: February.] On February the 6th, they were at the entrance of _Strait le Maire_, when it fell calm, and a strong tide set out of the _Strait_ Northward, which made a short irregular sea, as in a race, or place where two tides meet, and broke over the waist of the ship, 'which was tossed about like an egg-shell.' [Sidenote: They sail by the East end of Staten Island; and enter the South Sea.] A breeze springing up from the WNW, they bore away Eastward, and passed round the East end of _Staten Island_; after which they saw no other land till they came into the _South Sea_. They had much rain, and took advantage of it to fill 23 casks with fresh water. [Sidenote: March.] March the 17th, they were in latitude 36° S, standing for the _Island Juan Fernandez_. Variation 8° East. CHAP. XIII. _Buccaneers under =John Cook= arrive at =Juan Fernandez=. Account of =William=, a Mosquito Indian, who had lived there three years. They sail to the =Galapagos Islands=; thence to the Coast of =New Spain=. =John Cook= dies. =Edward Davis= chosen Commander._ [Sidenote: 1684. March 19th.] Continuing their course for _Juan Fernandez_, on the 19th in the morning, a strange ship was seen to the Southward, standing after them under all her sail. The Buccaneers were in hopes she would prove to be a Spaniard, and brought to, to wait her coming up. The people on board the strange vessel entertained similar expectations, for they also were English, and were come to the _South Sea_ to pick up what they could. This ship was named the Nicholas; her Commander John Eaton; she fitted out in the River _Thames_ under pretence of a trading, but in reality with the intention of making a piratical voyage. [Sidenote: Joined by the Nicholas of London, John Eaton Commander.] The two ships soon joined, and on its being found that they had come on the same errand to the _South Sea_, Cook and Eaton and their men agreed to keep company together. It was learnt from Eaton that another English ship, named the Cygnet, commanded by a Captain Swan, had sailed from _London_ for the _South Sea_; but fitted out by reputable merchants, and provided with a cargo for a trading voyage, having a licence from the Duke of York, then Lord High Admiral of _England_. The Cygnet and the Nicholas had met at the entrance of the _Strait of Magalhanes_, and they entered the _South Sea_ in company, but had since been separated by bad weather. [Sidenote: March 22d.] March the 22d, the Batchelor's Delight and the Nicholas came in sight of the Island _Juan Fernandez_. [Sidenote: At Juan Fernandez. William the Mosquito Indian.] The reader may remember that when the Buccaneers under Watling were at _Juan Fernandez_ in January 1681, the appearance of three Spanish ships made them quit the Island in great haste, and they left behind a Mosquito Indian named William, who was in the woods hunting for goats. Several of the Buccaneers who were then with Watling were now with Cook, and, eager to discover if any traces could be found which would enable them to conjecture what was become of their former companion, but with small hope of finding him still here, as soon as they were near enough for a boat to be sent from the ship, they hastened to the shore. Dampier was in this first boat, as was also a Mosquito Indian named Robin; and as they drew near the land, they had the satisfaction to see William at the sea-side waiting to receive them. Dampier has given the following affecting account of their meeting: 'Robin, his countryman, was the first who leaped ashore from the boats, and running to his brother _Moskito_ man, threw himself flat on his face at his feet, who helping him up and embracing him, fell flat with his face on the ground at Robin's feet, and was by him taken up also. We stood with pleasure to behold the surprise, tenderness, and solemnity of this interview, which was exceedingly affectionate on both sides: and when their ceremonies were over, we also that stood gazing at them, drew near, each of us embracing him we had found here, who was overjoyed to see so many of his old friends, come hither as he thought purposely to fetch him. He was named Will, as the other was Robin; which names were given them by the English, for they have no names among themselves, and they take it as a favour to be named by us, and will complain if we do not appoint them some name when they are with us.' William had lived in solitude on _Juan Fernandez_ above three years. The Spaniards knew of his being on the Island, and Spanish ships had stopped there, the people belonging to which had made keen search after him; but he kept himself concealed, and they could never discover his retreat. At the time Watling sailed from the Island, he had a musket, a knife, a small horn of powder, and a few shot. 'When his ammunition was expended, he contrived by notching his knife, to saw the barrel of his gun into small pieces, wherewith he made harpoons, lances, hooks, and a long knife, heating the pieces of iron first in the fire, and then hammering them out as he pleased with stones. This may seem strange to those not acquainted with the sagacity of the Indians; but it is no more than what the Moskito men were accustomed to in their own country.' He had worn out the clothes with which he landed, and was not otherwise clad than with a skin about his waist. He made fishing lines of the skins of seals cut into thongs. 'He had built himself a hut, half a mile from the sea-shore, which he lined with goats' skins, and slept on his couch or _barbecu_ of sticks raised about two feet from the ground, and spread with goats' skins.' He saw the two ships commanded by Cook and Eaton the day before they anchored, and from their manoeuvring believing them to be English, he killed three goats, which he drest with vegetables; thus preparing a treat for his friends on their landing; and there has seldom been a more fair and joyful occasion for festivity. [Sidenote: Stocked with Goats by its Discoverer.] Dampier reckoned two bays in _Juan Fernandez_ proper for ships to anchor in; 'both at the East end, and in each there is a rivulet of good fresh water.' He mentions (it may be supposed on the authority of Spanish information) that this Island was stocked with goats by Juan Fernandez, its discoverer, who, in a second voyage to it, landed three or four of these animals, and they quickly multiplied. Also, that Juan Fernandez had formed a plan of settling here, if he could have obtained a patent or royal grant of the Island; which was refused him[37]. The Buccaneers found here a good supply of provisions in goats, wild vegetables, seals, sea-lions, and fish. Dampier says, 'the seals at _Juan Fernandez_ are as big as calves, and have a fine thick short fur, the like I have not taken notice of any where but in these seas. The teeth of the sea-lion are the bigness of a man's thumb: in Captain Sharp's time, some of the Buccaneers made dice of them. Both the sea-lion and the seal eat fish, which I believe is their common food.' [Sidenote: Coast of Peru.] April the 8th, the Batchelor's Delight and Nicholas sailed from _Juan Fernandez_ for the American coast, which they made in latitude 24° S, and sailed Northward, keeping sight of the land, but at a good distance. [Sidenote: May.] On May the 3d, in latitude 9° 40' S, they took a Spanish ship laden with timber. [Sidenote: Appearance of the Andes.] Dampier remarks that 'from the latitude of 24° S to 17°, and from 14° to 10° S, the land within the coast is of a prodigious height. It lies generally in ridges parallel to the shore, one within another, each surpassing the other in height, those inland being the highest. They always appear blue when seen from sea, and are seldom obscured by clouds or fogs. These mountains far surpass the _Peak of Teneriffe_, or the land of _Santa Martha_.' [Sidenote: Islands Lobos de la Mar.] On the 9th, they anchored at the Islands _Lobos de la Mar_. 'This _Lobos_ consists of two little Islands each about a mile round, of indifferent height, with a channel between fit only for boats. Several rocks lie on the North side of the Islands. There is a small cove, or sandy bay, sheltered from the winds, at the West end of the Easternmost Island, where ships may careen. There is good riding between the Easternmost Island and the rocks, in 10, 12, or 14 fathoms; for the wind is commonly at S, or SSE, and the Easternmost Island lying East and West, shelters that road. Both the Islands are barren, without fresh water, tree, shrub, grass, or herb; but sea-fowls, seals, and sea-lions were here in multitudes[38].' On a review of their strength, they mustered in the two ships 108 men fit for service, besides their sick. They remained at the _Lobos de la Mar_ Isles till the 17th, when three vessels coming in sight, they took up their anchors and gave chace. They captured all the three, which were laden with provisions, principally flour, and bound for _Panama_. They learnt from the prisoners that the English ship Cygnet had been at _Baldivia_, and that the Viceroy on information of strange ships having entered the _South Sea_, had ordered treasure which had been shipped for _Panama_ to be re-landed. [Sidenote: They sail to the Galapagos Islands.] The Buccaneers, finding they were expected on the coast, determined to go with their prizes first to the _Galapagos Islands_, and afterwards to the coast of _New Spain_. They arrived in sight of the _Galapagos_ on the 31st; but were not enough to the Southward to fetch the Southern Islands, the wind being from SbE, which Dampier remarks is the common trade-wind in this part of the _Pacific_. Many instances occur in _South Sea_ navigations which shew the disadvantage of not keeping well to the South in going to the _Galapagos_. [Sidenote: Duke of Norfolk's Island.] The two ships anchored near the North East part of one of the Easternmost Islands, in 16 fathoms, the bottom white hard sand, a mile distant from the shore. It was during this visit of the Buccaneers to the _Galapagos_, that the chart of these Islands which was published with Cowley's voyage was made. Considering the small opportunity for surveying which was afforded by their track, it may be reckoned a good chart, and has the merit both of being the earliest survey known of these Islands, and of having continued in use to this day; the latest charts we have of the _Galapagos_ being founded upon this original, and (setting aside the additions) varying little from it in the general outlines. Where Cook and Eaton first anchored, appears to be the _Duke of Norfolk's Island_ of Cowley's chart. They found there sea turtle and land turtle, but could stop only one night, on account of two of their prizes, which being deeply laden had fallen too far to leeward to fetch the same anchorage. [Sidenote: June. King James's Island.] The day following, they sailed on to the next Island Westward (marked _King James's Island_ in the chart) and anchored at its North end, a quarter of a mile distant from the shore, in 15 fathoms. Dampier observed the latitude of the North part of this second Island, 0° 28' N, which is considerably more North than it is placed in Cowley's chart. The riding here was very uncertain, 'the bottom being so steep that if an anchor starts, it never holds again.' [Sidenote: Mistake made by the Editor of Dampier's Voyages.] An error has been committed in the printed Narrative of Dampier, which it may be useful to notice. It is there said, 'The Island at which we first anchored hath water on the North end, falling down in a stream from high steep rocks upon the sandy bay, where it may be taken up.' Concerning so essential an article to mariners as fresh water, no information can be too minute to deserve attention. [Sidenote: Concerning Fresh Water at King James's Island.] In the manuscript Journal, Dampier says of the first Island at which they anchored, 'we found there the largest land turtle I ever saw; but the Island is rocky and barren, without wood or water.' At the next Island at which they anchored, both Dampier and Cowley mention fresh water being found. Cowley says, 'this Bay I called _Albany Bay_, and another place _York Road_. Here is excellent sweet water.' Dampier also in the margin of his written Journal where the second anchorage is mentioned, has inserted the note following: 'At the North end of the Island we saw water running down from the rocks.' The editor or corrector of the press has mistakenly applied this to the first anchorage. [Sidenote: Herbage on the North end of Albemarle Island.] Cowley, after assigning names to the different Islands, adds, 'We could find no good water on any of these places, save on the _Duke of York's_ [_i. e. King James's_] _Island_. But at the North end of _Albemarle Island_ there were green leaves of a thick substance which we chewed to quench our thirst: and there were abundance of fowls in this Island which could not live without water, though we could not find it[39].' Animal food was furnished by the _Galapagos Islands_ in profusion, and of the most delicate kind; of vegetables nothing of use was found except the mammee, the leaves just noticed and berries. The name _Galapagos_ which has been assigned to these Islands, signifies Turtle in the Spanish language, and was given to them on account of the great numbers of those animals, both of the sea and land kind, found there. Guanoes, an amphibious animal well known in the _West Indies_, fish, flamingoes, and turtle-doves so tame that they would alight upon the men's heads, were all in great abundance; and convenient for preserving meat, salt was plentiful at the _Galapagos_. Some green snakes were the only other animals seen there. [Sidenote: Land Turtle.] The full-grown land turtle were from 150 to 200 _lbs._ in weight. Dampier says, 'so sweet that no pullet can eat more pleasantly. They are very fat; the oil saved from them was kept in jars, and used instead of butter to eat with dough-boys or dumplings.'--'We lay here feeding sometimes on land turtle, sometimes on sea turtle, there being plenty of either sort; but the land turtle, as they exceed in sweetness, so do they in numbers: it is incredible to report how numerous they are.' [Sidenote: Sea Turtle.] The sea turtle at the _Galapagos_ are of the larger kind of those called the Green Turtle. Dampier thought their flesh not so good as the green turtle of the _West Indies_. Dampier describes the _Galapagos Isles_ to be generally of good height: 'four or five of the Easternmost Islands are rocky, hilly, and barren, producing neither tree, herb, nor grass; but only a green prickly shrub that grows 10 or 12 feet high, as big as a man's leg, and is full of sharp prickles in thick rows from top to bottom, without leaf or fruit. In some places by the sea side grow bushes of Burton wood (a sort of wood which grows in the _West Indies_) which is good firing. [Sidenote: Mammee Tree.] Some of the Westernmost of these Islands are nine or ten leagues long, have fertile land with mold deep and black; and these produce trees of various kinds, some of great and tall bodies, especially the Mammee. The heat is not so violent here as in many other places under the Equator. The time of year for the rains, is in November, December, and January.' At _Albany Bay_, and at other of the Islands, the Buccaneers built storehouses, in which they lodged 5000 packs of their prize flour, and a quantity of sweetmeats, to remain as a reserved store to which they might have recourse on any future occasion. Part of this provision was landed at the Islands Northward of _King James's Island_, to which they went in search of fresh water, but did not find any. They endeavoured to sail back to the _Duke of York's Island_, Cowley says, 'there to have watered,' but a current setting Northward prevented them. [Sidenote: 12th. They sail from the Galapagos.] On June the 12th, they sailed from the _Galapagos Islands_ for the Island _Cocos_, where they proposed to water. The wind at this time was South; but they expected they should find, as they went Northward, the general trade-wind blowing from the East; and in that persuasion they steered more Easterly than the line of direction in which _Cocos_ lay from them, imagining that when they came to the latitude of the Island, they would have to bear down upon it before the wind. Contrary however to this expectation, as they advanced Northward they found the wind more Westerly, till it settled at SWbS, and they got so far Eastward, that they crossed the parallel of _Cocos_ without being able to come in sight of it. [Sidenote: July. Coast of New Spain. Cape Blanco.] Missing _Cocos_, they sailed on Northward for the coast of _New Spain_. In the beginning of July, they made the West Cape of the _Gulf of Nicoya_. 'This Cape is about the height of _Beachy Head_, and was named _Blanco_, on account of two white rocks lying about half a mile from it, which to those who are far off at sea, appear as part of the mainland; but on coming nearer, they appear like two ships under sail[40].' [Sidenote: John Cook, Buccaneer Commander, dies. Edward Davis chosen Commander.] The day on which they made this land, the Buccaneer Commander, John Cook, who had been some time ill, died. Edward Davis, the Quarter-Master, was unanimously elected by the company to succeed in the command. CHAP. XIV. _=Edward Davis= Commander. On the coast of =New Spain= and =Peru=. Algatrane, a bituminous earth. =Davis= is joined by other Buccaneers. =Eaton= sails to the East Indies. =Guayaquil= attempted. Rivers of =St. Jago=, and =Tomaco=. In the Bay of =Panama=. Arrivals of numerous parties of Buccaneers across the =Isthmus= from the =West Indies=._ [Sidenote: 1684. July. Coast of New Spain. Caldera Bay.] Dampier describes the coast of _New Spain_ immediately westward of the _Cape Blanco_ last mentioned, to fall in to the NE about four leagues, making a small bay, which is by the Spaniards called _Caldera_[41]. Within the entrance of this bay, a league from _Cape Blanco_, was a small brook of very good water running into the sea. The land here is low, making a saddle between two small hills. The ships anchored near the brook, in good depth, on a bottom of clean hard sand; and at this place, their deceased Commander was taken on shore and buried. The country appeared thin of inhabitants, and the few seen were shy of coming near strangers. Two Indians however were caught. Some cattle were seen grazing near the shore, at a Beef _Estançian_ or Farm, three miles distant from where the ships lay. Two boats were sent thither to bring cattle, having with them one of the Indians for a guide. They arrived at the farm towards evening, and some of the Buccaneers proposed that they should remain quiet till daylight next morning, when they might surround the cattle and drive a number of them into a pen or inclosure; others of the party disliked this plan, and one of the boats returned to the ships. Twelve men, with the other boat, remained, who hauled their boat dry up on the beach, and went and took their lodgings for the night by the farm. When the morning arrived, they found the people of the country had collected, and saw about 40 armed men preparing to attack them. The Buccaneers hastened as speedily as they could to the sea-side where they had left their boat, and found her in flames. 'The Spaniards now thought they had them secure, and some called to them to ask if they would be pleased to walk to their plantations; to which never a word was answered.' Fortunately for the Buccaneers, a rock appeared just above water at some distance from the shore, and the way to it being fordable, they waded thither. This served as a place of protection against the enemy, 'who only now and then whistled a shot among them.' It was at about half ebb tide when they took to the rock for refuge; on the return of the flood, the rock became gradually covered. They had been in this situation seven hours, when a boat arrived, sent from the ships in search of them. The rise and fall of the tide here was eight feet perpendicular, and the tide was still rising at the time the boat came to their relief; so that their peril from the sea when on the rock was not less than it had been from the Spaniards when they were on shore. From _Caldera Bay_, they sailed for _Ria-lexa_. [Sidenote: Volcan Viejo. Ria-lexa Harbour.] The coast near _Ria-lexa_ is rendered remarkable by a high peaked mountain called _Volcan Viejo_ (the Old Volcano.) 'When the mountain bears NE, ships may steer directly in for it, which course will bring them to the harbour. Those that go thither must take the sea wind, which is from the SSW, for there is no going in with the land wind. The harbour is made by a low flat Island about a mile long and a quarter of a mile broad, which lies about a mile and a half from the main-land. There is a channel at each end of the Island: the West channel is the widest and safest, yet at the NW point of the Island there is a shoal of which ships must take heed, and when past the shoal must keep close to the Island on account of a sandy point which strikes over from the main-land. This harbour is capable of receiving 200 sail of ships. The best riding is near the main-land, where the depth is seven or eight fathoms, clean hard sand. Two creeks lead up to the town of _Ria-lexa_, which is two leagues distant from the harbour[42].' The Spaniards had erected breastworks and made other preparation in expectation of such a visit as the present. The Buccaneers therefore changed their intention, which had been to attack the town; and sailed on for the _Gulf of Amapalla_. [Sidenote: Bay of Amapalla.] 'The Bay or Gulf of _Amapalla_ runs eight or ten leagues into the country. On the South side of its entrance is _Point Casivina_, in latitude 12° 40' N; and on the NW side is _Mount San Miguel_. There are many Islands in this Gulf, all low except two, named _Amapalla_ and _Mangera_, which are both high land. These are two miles asunder, and between them is the best channel into the Gulf[43].' The ships sailed into the _Gulf_ through the channel between _Point Casivina_ and the Island _Mangera_. Davis went with two canoes before the ships, and landed at a village on the Island _Mangera_. The inhabitants kept at a distance, but a Spanish Friar and some Indians were taken, from whom the Buccaneers learnt that there were two Indian towns or villages on the _Island Amapalla_; upon which information they hastened to their canoes, and made for that Island. On coming near, some among the inhabitants called out to demand who they were, and what they came for. Davis answered by an interpreter, that he and his men were Biscayners sent by the King of _Spain_ to clear the sea of Pirates; and that their business in _Amapalla Bay_, was to careen. No other Spaniard than the Padre dwelt among these Indians, and only one among the Indians could speak the Spanish language, who served as a kind of Secretary to the Padre. The account the Buccaneers gave of themselves satisfied the natives, and the Secretary said they were welcome. The principal town or village of the Island _Amapalla_ stood on the top of a hill, and Davis and his men, with the Friar at their head, marched thither. At each of the towns on _Amapalla_, and also on _Mangera_, was a handsome built church. The Spanish Padre officiated at all three, and gave religious instruction to the natives in their own language. The Islands were within the jurisdiction of the Governor of the Town of _San Miguel_, which was at the foot of the _Mount_. 'I observed,' says Dampier, 'in all the Indian towns under the Spanish Government, that the Images of the Virgin Mary, and of other Saints with which all their churches are filled, are painted of an Indian complexion, and partly in an Indian dress: but in the towns which are inhabited chiefly by Spaniards, the Saints conform to the Spanish garb and complexion.' The ships anchored near the East side of the _Island Amapalla_, which is the largest of the Islands, in 10 fathoms depth, clean hard sand. On other Islands in the Bay were plantations of maize, with cattle, fowls, plantains, and abundance of a plum-tree common in _Jamaica_, the fruit of which Dampier calls the large hog plum. This fruit is oval, with a large stone and little substance about it; pleasant enough in taste, but he says he never saw one of these plums ripe that had not a maggot or two in it. The Buccaneers helped themselves to cattle from an Island in the Bay which was largely stocked, and which they were informed belonged to a Nunnery. The natives willingly assisted them to take the cattle, and were content on receiving small presents for their labour. The Buccaneers had no other service to desire of these natives, and therefore it must have been from levity and an ambition to give a specimen of their vocation, more than for any advantage expected, that they planned to take the opportunity when the inhabitants should be assembled in their church, to shut the church doors upon them, the Buccaneers themselves say, 'to let the Indians know who we were, and to make a bargain with them.' In executing this project, one of the buccaneers being impatient at the leisurely movements of the inhabitants, pushed one of them rather rudely, to hasten him into the church; but the contrary effect was produced, for the native being frightened, ran away, and all the rest taking alarm 'sprang out of the church like deer.' As they fled, some of Davis's men fired at them as at an enemy, and among other injury committed, the Indian Secretary was killed. Cowley relates their exploits here very briefly, but in the style of an accomplished Gazette writer. He says, 'We set sail from _Realejo_ to the _Gulf of St. Miguel_, where we took two Islands; one was inhabited by Indians, and the other was well stored with cattle.' [Sidenote: September. Davis and Eaton part Company.] Davis and Eaton here broke off consortship. The cause of their separating was an unreasonable claim of Davis's crew, who having the stouter and better ship, would not agree that Eaton's men should share equally with themselves in the prizes taken. Cowley at this time quitted Davis's ship, and entered with Eaton, who sailed from the _Bay of Amapalla_ for the Peruvian coast. Davis also sailed the same way on the day following (September the 3d), first releasing the Priest of _Amapalla_; and with a feeling of remorse something foreign to his profession, by way of atonement to the inhabitants for the annoyance and mischief they had sustained from the Buccaneers, he left them one of the prize vessels, with half a cargo of flour. [Sidenote: Tornadoes near the Coast of New Spain.] Davis sailed out of the Gulf by the passage between the Islands _Amapalla_ and _Mangera_. In the navigation towards the coast of _Peru_, they had the wind from the NNW and West, except during tornadoes, of which they had one or more every day, and whilst they lasted the wind generally blew from the South East; but as soon as they were over, the wind settled again, in the NW. Tornadoes are common near the _Bay of Panama_ from June to November, and at this time were accompanied with much thunder, lightning, and rain. [Sidenote: Cape San Francisco.] When they came to _Cape San Francisco_, they found settled fair weather, and the wind at South. On the 20th, they anchored by the East side of the _Island Plata_. The 21st, Eaton's ship anchored near them. Eaton had been at the _Island Cocos_, and had lodged on shore there 200 packages of flour. [Sidenote: Eaton's Description of Cocos Island.] According to Eaton's description, _Cocos Island_ is encompassed with rocks, 'which make it almost inaccessible except at the NE end, where there is a small but secure harbour; and a fine brook of fresh water runs there into the sea. The middle of the Island is pretty high, and destitute of trees, but looks green and pleasant with an herb by the Spaniards called _Gramadiel_. All round the Island by the sea, the land is low, and there cocoa-nut trees grow in great groves.' [Sidenote: Coast of Peru.] At _La Plata_ they found only one small run of fresh water, which was on the East side of the Island, and trickled slowly down from the rocks. The Spaniards had recently destroyed the goats here, that they might not serve as provision for the pirates. Small sea turtle however were plentiful, as were men-of-war birds and boobies. The tide was remarked to run strong at this part of the coast, the flood to the South. Eaton and his crew would willingly have joined company again with Davis, but Davis's men persisted in their unsociable claim to larger shares: the two ships therefore, though designing alike to cruise on the coast of _Peru_, sailed singly and separately, Eaton on the 22d, and Davis on the day following. [Sidenote: Point S^{ta} Elena.] Davis went to _Point S^{ta} Elena_. On its West side is deep water and no anchorage. In the bay on the North side of the Point is good anchorage, and about a mile within the Point was a small Indian village, the inhabitants of which carried on a trade with pitch, and salt made there. The _Point S^{ta} Elena_ is tolerably high, and overgrown with thistles; but the land near it is sandy, low, and in parts overflowed, without tree or grass, and without fresh water; but water-melons grew there, large and very sweet. When the inhabitants of the village wanted fresh water, they were obliged to fetch it from a river called the _Colanche_, which is at the innermost part of the bay, four leagues distant from their habitations. The buccaneers landed, and took some natives prisoners. A small bark was lying in the bay at anchor, the crew of which set fire to and abandoned her; but the buccaneers boarded her in time to extinguish the fire. A general order had been given by the Viceroy of _Peru_ to all ship-masters, that if they should be in danger of being taken by pirates, they should set fire to their vessels and betake themselves to their boats. [Sidenote: Algatrane, a bituminous Earth.] The pitch, which was the principal commodity produced at _S^{ta} Elena_, was supplied from a hot spring, of which Dampier gives the following account. 'Not far from the Indian village, and about five paces within high-water mark, a bituminous matter boils out of a little hole in the earth. It is like thin tar; the Spaniards call it _Algatrane_. By much boiling, it becomes hard like pitch, and is used by the Spaniards instead of pitch. It boils up most at high water, and the inhabitants save it in jars[44].' [Sidenote: A rich Ship formerly wrecked on Point S^{ta} Elena.] A report was current here among the Spaniards, 'that many years before, a rich Spanish ship was driven ashore at _Point S^{ta} Elena_, for want of wind to work her; that immediately after she struck, she heeled off to seaward, and sunk in seven or eight fathoms water; and that no one ever attempted to fish for her, because there falls in here a great high sea[45].' [Sidenote: Manta.] Davis landed at a village named _Manta_, on the main-land about three leagues Eastward of _Cape San Lorenzo_, and due North of a high conical mountain called _Monte Christo_. The village was on a small ascent, and between it and the sea was a spring of good water. [Sidenote: Sunken Rocks near it.] 'About a mile and a half from the shore, right opposite the village, is a rock which is very dangerous, because it never appears above water, neither does the sea break upon it. A mile within the rock is good anchorage in six, eight or ten fathoms, hard sand and clear ground. [Sidenote: And Shoal.] A mile from the road on the West side is a shoal which runs out a mile into the sea[46].' The only booty made by landing at _Manta_, was the taking two old women prisoners. From them however, the Buccaneers obtained intelligence that many of their fraternity had lately crossed the _Isthmus_ from the _West Indies_, and were at this time on the _South Sea_, without ships, cruising about in canoes; and that it was on this account the Viceroy had given orders for the destruction of the goats at the Island _Plata_. [Sidenote: October. Davis is joined by other Buccaneers.] Whilst Davis and his men, in the Batchelor's Delight, were lying at the Island _Plata_, unsettled in their plans by the news they had received, they were, on October the 2d, joined by the Cygnet, Captain Swan, and by a small bark manned with a crew of buccaneers, both of which anchored in the road. [Sidenote: The Cygnet, Captain Swan.] The Cygnet, as before noticed, was fitted out from _London_ for the purpose of trade. She had put in at _Baldivia_, where Swan, seeing the Spaniards suspicious of the visits of strangers, gave out that he was bound to the _East Indies_, and that he had endeavoured to go by the _Cape of Good Hope_; but that meeting there with storms and unfavourable winds, and not being able to beat round that _Cape_, he had changed his course and ran for the _Strait of Magalhanes_, to sail by the _Pacific Ocean_ to _India_. This story was too improbable to gain credit. Instead of finding a market at _Baldivia_, the Spaniards there treated him and his people as enemies, by which he lost two men and had several wounded. He afterwards tried the disposition of the Spaniards to trade with him at other places, both in _Chili_ and _Peru_, but no where met encouragement. He proceeded Northward for _New Spain_ still with the same view; but near the _Gulf of Nicoya_ he fell in with some buccaneers who had come over the _Isthmus_ and were in canoes; and his men (Dampier says) forced him to receive them into his ship, and he was afterwards prevailed on to join in their pursuits. Swan had to plead in his excuse, the hostility of the Spaniards towards him at _Baldivia_. These buccaneers with whom Swan associated, had for their commander Peter Harris, a nephew of the Peter Harris who was killed in battle with the Spaniards in the _Bay of Panama_, in 1680, when the Buccaneers were commanded by Sawkins and Coxon. Swan stipulated with them that ten shares of every prize should be set apart for the benefit of his owners, and articles to that purport were drawn up and signed. Swan retained the command of the Cygnet, with a crew increased by a number of the new comers, for whose accommodation a large quantity of bulky goods belonging to the merchants was thrown into the sea. Harris with others of the buccaneers established themselves in a small bark they had taken. On their meeting with Davis, there was much joy and congratulation on all sides. They immediately agreed to keep together, and the separation of Eaton's ship was now much regretted. They were still incommoded in Swan's ship for want of room, therefore (the supercargoes giving consent) whatever part of the cargo any of the crews desired to purchase, it was sold to them upon trust; and more bulky goods were thrown overboard. Iron, of which there was a large quantity, was kept for ballast; and the finer goods, as silks, muslins, stockings, &c. were saved. [Sidenote: At Isle de la Plata.] Whilst they continued at _La Plata_, Davis kept a small bark out cruising, which brought in a ship from _Guayaquil_, laden with timber, the master of which reported that great preparations were making at _Callao_ to attack the pirates. This information made a re-union with Eaton more earnestly desired, and a small bark manned with 20 men was dispatched to search along the coast Southward as far as to the _Lobos Isles_, with an invitation to him to join them again. The ships in the mean time followed leisurely in the same direction. [Sidenote: Cape Blanco, near Guayaquil; difficult to weather.] On the 30th, they were off the _Cape Blanco_ which is between _Payta_ and the _Bay of Guayaquil_. Southerly winds prevail along the coast of _Peru_ and _Chili_ much the greater part of the year; and Dampier remarks of this _Cape Blanco_, that it was reckoned the most difficult to weather of any headland along the coast, the wind generally blowing strong from SSW or SbW, without being altered, as at other parts of the coast, by the land winds. Yet it was held necessary here to beat up close in with the shore, because (according to the accounts of Spanish seamen) 'on standing out to sea, a current is found setting NW, which will carry a ship farther off shore in two hours, than she can run in again in five.' [Sidenote: November. Payta burnt.] November the 3d, the Buccaneers landed at _Payta_ without opposition, the town being abandoned to them. They found nothing of value, 'not so much as a meal of victuals being left them.' The Governor would not pay ransom for the town, though he fed the Buccaneers with hopes till the sixth day, when they set it on fire. At most of the towns on the coast of _Peru_, the houses are built with bricks made of earth and straw kneaded together and dried in the sun; many houses have no roof other than mats laid upon rafters, for it never rains, and they endeavour to fence only from the sun. From the want of moisture, great part of the country near the coast will not produce timber, and most of the stone they have, 'is so brittle that any one may rub it into sand with their finger.' _Payta_ had neither wood nor water, except what was carried thither. The water was procured from a river about two leagues NNE of the town, where was a small Indian village called _Colan_. [Sidenote: Part of the Peruvian Coast where it never rains.] Dampier says, 'this dry country commences Northward about _Cape Blanco_ (in about 4° S latitude) whence it reaches to latitude 30° S, in which extent they have no rain that I could ever observe or hear of.' In the Southern part of this tract however (according to Wafer) they have great dews in the night, by which the vallies are rendered fertile, and are well furnished with vegetables. Eaton had been at _Payta_, where he burnt a large ship in the road, but did not land. He put on shore there all his prisoners; from which circumstance it was conjectured that he purposed to sail immediately for the _East Indies_; and such proved to be the fact. The vessel commanded by Harris, sailed badly, and was therefore quitted and burnt. [Sidenote: Lobos de Tierra. Lobos de la Mar.] On the 14th, the other Buccaneer vessels, under Davis, anchored near the NE end of _Lobos de Tierra_, in four fathoms depth. They took here penguins, boobies, and seals. On the 19th, they were at _Lobos de la Mar_, where they found a letter left by the bark sent in search of Eaton, which gave information that he had entirely departed from the American coast. The bark had sailed for the Island _Plata_ expecting to rejoin the ships there. [Sidenote: Eaton sails for the East Indies; Stops at the Ladrones.] Eaton in his route to the _East Indies_ stopped at _Guahan_, one of the _Ladrone Islands_, where himself and his crew acted towards the native Islanders with the utmost barbarity, which Cowley relates as a subject of merriment. On their first arrival at _Guahan_, Eaton sent a boat on shore to procure refreshments; but the natives kept at a distance, believing his ship to be one of the Manila galeons, and his people Spaniards. Eaton's men served themselves with cocoa-nuts, but finding difficulty in climbing, they cut the trees down to get at the fruit. The next time their boat went to the shore, the Islanders attacked her, but were easily repulsed; and a number of them killed. By this time the Spanish Governor was arrived at the part of the Island near which the ship had anchored, and sent a letter addressed to her Commander, written in four different languages, to wit, in Spanish, French, Dutch, and Latin, to demand of what country she was, and whence she came. Cowley says, 'Our Captain, thinking the French would be welcomer than the English, returned answer we were French, fitted out by private merchants to make fuller discovery of the world. The Governor on this, invited the Captain to the shore, and at their first conference, the Captain told him that the Indians had fallen upon his men, and that we had killed some of them. He wished we had killed them all, and told us of their rebellion, that they had killed eight Fathers, of sixteen which were in a convent. He gave us leave to kill and take whatever we could find on one half of the Island where the rebels lived. We then made wars with these infidels, and went on shore every day, fetching provisions, and firing upon them wherever we saw them, so that the greatest part of them left the Island. The Indians sent two of their captains to us to treat of peace, but we would not treat with them[47].'--'The whole land is a garden. The Governor was the same man who detained Sir John Narbrough's Lieutenant at _Baldivia_. Our Captain supplied him with four barrels of gunpowder, and arms.' Josef de Quiroga was at this time Governor at _Guahan_, who afterwards conquered and unpeopled all the Northern Islands of the _Ladrones_. Eaton's crew took some of the Islanders prisoners: three of them jumped overboard to endeavour to escape. It was easy to retake them, as they had been bound with their hands behind them; but Eaton's men pursued them with the determined purpose to kill them, which they did in mere wantonness of sport[48]. At another time, when they had so far come to an accommodation with the Islanders as to admit of their approach, the ship's boat being on shore fishing with the seine, some natives in canoes near her were suspected of intending mischief. Cowley relates, 'our people that were in the boat let go in amongst the thickest of them, and killed a great many of their number.' It is possible that thus much might have been necessary for safety; but Cowley proceeds, 'the others, seeing their mates fall, ran away. Our other men which were on shore, meeting them, saluted them also by making holes in their hides.' From the _Ladrones_ Eaton sailed to the North of _Luconia_, and passed through among the Islands which were afterwards named by Dampier the _Bashee Islands_. The account given by Cowley is as follows: 'There being half a point East variation, till we came to latitude 20° 30' N, where we fell in with a parcel of Islands lying to the Northward of _Luconia_. On the 23d day of April, we sailed through between the second and third of the Northernmost of them. We met with a very strong current, like the _Race of Portland_. [Sidenote: Nutmeg Island, North of Luconia.] At the third of the Northernmost Islands, we sent our boat on shore, where they found abundance of nutmegs growing, but no people. They observed abundance of rocks and foul ground near the shore, and saw many goats upon the Island.' Cowley concludes the narrative of his voyage with saying that he arrived home safe to _England_ through the infinite mercy of God. [Sidenote: Coast of Peru. Davis attempts Guayaquil. Slave Ships captured.] To return to Edward Davis: At _Lobos de la Mar_, the Mosquito Indians struck as much turtle as served all the crews. Shortly after, Davis made an attempt to surprise _Guayaquil_, which miscarried through the cowardice of one of his men, and the coldness of Swan to the enterprise. In the _Bay of Guayaquil_ they captured four vessels; one of them laden with woollen cloth of _Quito_ manufacture; the other three were ships coming out of the _River of Guayaquil_ with cargoes of Negroes. The number of Negroes in these vessels was a thousand, from among which Davis and Swan chose each about fifteen, and let the vessels go. Dampier entertained on this occasion different views from his companions. 'Never,' says he, 'was put into the hands of men a greater opportunity to enrich themselves. We had 1000 Negroes, all lusty young men and women, and we had 200 tons of flour stored up at the _Galapagos Islands_. With these Negroes we might have gone and settled at _Santa Maria_ on the _Isthmus of Darien_, and have employed them in getting gold out of the mines there. All the Indians living in that neighbourhood were mortal enemies to the Spaniards, were flushed by successes against them, and for several years had been the fast friends of the privateers. Add to which, we should have had the _North Sea_ open to us, and in a short time should have received assistance from all parts of the _West Indies_. Many thousands of Buccaneers from _Jamaica_ and the French Islands would have flocked to us; and we should have been an overmatch for all the force the Spaniards could have brought out of _Peru_ against us.' The proposal to employ slaves in the mines leaves no cause to regret that Dampier's plan was not adopted; but that was probably not an objection with his companions. They naturally shrunk from an attempt which in the execution would have required a regularity and order to which they were unaccustomed, and not at all affected. [Sidenote: Description of the Harbour of Guayaquil.] The Harbour of _Guayaquil_ is the best formed port in _Peru_. In the river, three or four miles short of the town, stands a low Island about a mile long, on either side of which is a fair channel to pass up or down. The Western Channel is the wildest: the other is as deep. 'From the upper part of the Island to the town is about a league, and it is near as much from one side of the river to the other. In that spacious place ships of the greatest burthen may ride afloat; but the best place for ships is near that part of the land on which the town stands. The country here is subject to great rains and thick fogs, which render it very unwholesome and sickly, in the vallies especially; _Guayaquil_ however is not so unhealthy as _Quito_ and other towns inland; but the Northern part of Peru pays for the dry weather which they have about _Lima_ and to the Southward.' [Sidenote: Island S^{ta} Clara. Shoals near its North Side.] 'Ships bound into the river of _Guayaquil_ pass on the South side of the Island _Santa Clara_ to avoid shoals which are on the North side, whereon formerly ships have been wrecked. A rich wreck lay on the North side of _Santa Clara_ not far from the Island, and some plate which was in her was taken up: more might have been saved but for the cat-fish which swarm hereabouts. [Sidenote: Cat Fish.] 'The Cat-fish is much like a whiting; but the head is flatter and bigger. It has a wide mouth, and certain small strings pointing out on each side of it like cats' whiskers. It hath three fins; one on the back, and one on either side. Each of these fins hath a sharp bone which is very venemous if it strikes into a man's flesh. Some of the Indians that adventured to search this wreck lost their lives, and others the use of their limbs, by these fins. Some of the cat-fish weigh seven or eight pounds; and in some places there are cat-fish which are none of them bigger than a man's thumb; but their fins are all alike venemous. They are most generally at the mouths of rivers (in the hot latitudes) or where there is much mud and ooze. The bones in their bodies are not venemous, and we never perceived any bad effect in eating the fish, which is very sweet and wholesome meat[49].' The 13th, Davis and Swan with their prizes sailed from the _Bay of Guayaquil_ to the Island _Plata_, and found there the bark which had been in quest of Eaton's ship. From _Plata_, they sailed Northward towards the _Bay of Panama_, landing at the villages along the coast to seek provisions. They were ill provided with boats, which exposed them to danger in making descents, by their not being able to land or bring off many men at one time; and they judged that the best places for getting their wants in this respect supplied would be in rivers of the Continent, in which the Spaniards had no settlement, where from the native inhabitants they might obtain canoes by traffic or purchase, if not otherwise. Dampier remarks that there were many such unfrequented rivers in the Continent to the Northward of the _Isle de la Plata_; and that from the Equinoctial to the _Gulf de San Miguel_ in the _Bay of Panama_, which is above eight degrees of latitude, the coast was not inhabited by the Spaniards, nor were the Indians who lived there in any manner under their subjection, except at one part near the Island _Gallo_, 'where on the banks of a Gold River or two, some Spaniards had settled to find gold.' [Sidenote: The Land Northward of Cape San Francisco. The Cotton Tree and Cabbage Tree.] The land by the sea-coast to the North of _Cape San Francisco_ is low and extremely woody; the trees are of extraordinary height and bigness; and in this part of the coast are large and navigable rivers. The white cotton-tree, which bears a very fine sort of cotton, called silk cotton, is the largest tree in these woods; and the cabbage-tree is the tallest. Dampier has given full descriptions of both. He measured a cabbage-tree 120 feet in length, and some were longer. 'It has no limbs nor boughs except at the head, where there are branches something bigger than a man's arm. The cabbage-fruit shoots out in the midst of these branches, invested or folded in leaves; and is as big as the small of a man's leg, and a foot long. It is white as milk, and sweet as a nut if eaten raw, and is very sweet and wholesome if boiled.' [Sidenote: River of St. Jago.] The Buccaneers entered a river with their boats, in or near latitude 2° N, which Dampier, from some Spanish pilot-book, calls the _River of St. Jago_. It was navigable some leagues within the entrance, and seems to be the river marked with the name _Patia_ in the late Spanish charts, a name which has allusion to spreading branches. Davis's men went six leagues up the river without seeing habitation or people. They then came in sight of two small huts, the inhabitants of which hurried into canoes with their household-stuff, and paddled upwards against the stream faster than they could be pursued. More houses were seen higher up; but the stream ran here so swift, that the Buccaneers would not be at the labour of proceeding. [Sidenote: Island Gallo.] They found in the two deserted huts, a hog, some fowls and plantains, which they dressed on the spot, and after their meal returned to the ships, which were at the _Island Gallo_. 'The Island _Gallo_ is clothed with timber, and here was a spring of good water at the NE end, with good landing in a small sandy bay, and secure riding in six or seven fathoms depth[50].' [Sidenote: River Tomaco.] They entered with their boats another large river, called the _Tomaco_, the entrance of which is but three leagues from the _Island Gallo_. This river was shoal at the mouth, and navigable for small vessels only. A little within, was a village called _Tomaco_, some of the inhabitants of which they took prisoners, and carried off a dozen jars of good wine. [Sidenote: 1685. January.] On the 1st of January, they took a packet-boat bound for _Lima_, which the President of _Panama_ had dispatched to hasten the sailing of the Plate Fleet from _Callao_; the treasure sent from _Peru_ and _Chili_ to _Old Spain_ being usually first collected at _Panama_, and thence transported on mules to _Portobello_. The Buccaneers judged that the _Pearl Islands_ in the _Bay of Panama_ would be the best station they could occupy for intercepting ships from _Lima_. On the 7th, they left _Gallo_, and pursued their course Northward. An example occurs here of Buccaneer order and discipline. 'We weighed,' says Dampier, 'before day, and all got out of the road except Captain Swan's tender, which never budged; for the men were all asleep when we went out, and the tide of flood coming on before they awoke, we were forced to stay for them till the following tide.' [Sidenote: Island Gorgona.] On the 8th, they took a vessel laden with flour. The next day they anchored on the West side of the _Island Gorgona_, in 38 fathoms depth clear ground, a quarter of a mile from the shore. _Gorgona_ was uninhabited; and like _Gallo_ covered with trees. It is pretty high, and remarkable by two saddles, or risings and fallings on the top. It is about two leagues long, one broad, and is four leagues distant from the mainland. It was well watered at this time with small brooks issuing from the high land. At its West end is another small Island. The tide rises and falls seven or eight feet; and at low water shell-fish, as periwinkles, muscles, and oysters, may be taken. At _Gorgona_ were small black monkeys. 'When the tide was out, the monkeys would come down to the sea-shore for shell-fish. Their way was to take up an oyster and lay it upon a stone, and with another stone to keep beating of it till they broke the shell[51].' [Sidenote: Pearl Oysters.] The pearl oyster was here in great plenty: they are flatter than other oysters, are slimy, and taste copperish if eaten raw, but were thought good when boiled. The Indians and Spaniards hang the meat of them on strings to dry. 'The pearl is found at the head of the oyster, between the meat and the shell. Some have 20 or 30 small seed-pearl, some none at all, and some one or two pretty large pearls. The inside of the shell is more glorious than the pearl itself[52].' [Sidenote: Bay of Panama. Galera Isle.] They put some of their prisoners on shore at _Gorgona_, and sailed thence on the 13th, being six sail in company; that is to say, Davis's ship, Swan's ship, three tenders, and their last prize. The 21st, they arrived in the _Bay of Panama_, and anchored at a small low and barren Island named _Galera_. On the 25th, they went from _Galera_ to one of the Southern _Pearl Islands_, where they lay the ships aground to clean, the rise and fall of the sea at the spring tides being ten feet perpendicular. The small barks were kept out cruising, and on the 31st, they brought in a vessel bound for _Panama_ from _Lavelia_, a town on the West side of the _Bay_, laden with Indian corn, salt beef, and fowls. Notwithstanding it had been long reported that a fleet was fitting out in _Peru_ to clear the _South Sea_ of pirates, the small force under Davis, Swan, and Harris, amounting to little more than 250 men, remained several weeks in uninterrupted possession of the _Bay of Panama_, blocking up access to the city by sea, supplying themselves with provisions from the Islands, and plundering whatsoever came in their way. [Sidenote: The Pearl Islands.] The _Pearl Islands_ are woody, and the soil rich. They are cultivated with plantations of rice, plantains, and bananas, for the support of the City of _Panama_. Dampier says, 'Why they are called the _Pearl Islands_ I cannot imagine, for I did never see one pearl oyster about them, but of other oysters many. It is very pleasant sailing here, having the mainland on one side, which appears in divers forms, beautified with small hills clothed with woods always green and flourishing; and on the other side, the _Pearl Islands_, which also make a lovely prospect as you sail by them.' The Buccaneers went daily in their canoes among the different Islands, to fish, fowl, or hunt for guanoes. One man so employed and straggling from his party, was surprised by the Spaniards, and carried to _Panama_. [Sidenote: February.] In the middle of February, Davis, who appears to have always directed their movements as the chief in command, went with his ships and anchored near the City of _Panama_. He negociated with the Governor an exchange of prisoners, and was glad by the release of forty Spaniards to obtain the deliverance of two Buccaneers; one of them the straggler just mentioned; the other, one of Harris's men. A short time after this exchange, as the Buccaneer ships were at anchor near the Island _Taboga_, which is about four leagues to the South of _Panama_, they were visited by a Spaniard in a canoe, who pretended he was a merchant and wanted to traffic with them privately. He proposed to come off to the ships in the night with a small vessel laden with such goods as the Buccaneers desired to purchase. This was agreed to, and he came with his vessel when it was dark; but instead of a cargo of goods, she was fitted up as a fire-ship with combustibles. The Buccaneers had suspected his intention and were on their guard; but to ward off the mischief, were obliged to cut from their anchors and set sail. In the morning they returned to their anchorage, which they had scarcely regained when a fresh cause of alarm occurred. Dampier relates, [Sidenote: Arrival of fresh bodies of Buccaneers from the West Indies.] 'We were striving to recover the anchors we had parted from, but the buoy-ropes, being rotten, broke, and whilst we were puzzling about our anchors, we saw a great many canoes full of men pass between the Island _Taboga_ and another Island, which at first put us into a new consternation. We lay still some time, till we saw they made directly towards us; upon which we weighed and stood towards them. When we came within hail, we found that they were English and French privateers just come from the _North Sea_ over the _Isthmus of Darien_. We presently came to an anchor again, and all the canoes came on board.' [Sidenote: Grogniet and L'Escuyer.] This new arrival of Buccaneers to the _South Sea_ consisted of 200 Frenchmen and 80 Englishmen, commanded by two Frenchmen named Grogniet and L'Escuyer. Grogniet had a commission to war on the Spaniards from a French West-India Governor. The Englishmen of this party upon joining Davis, were received into the ships of their countrymen, and the largest of the prize vessels, which was a ship named the San Rosario, was given to the Frenchmen. From these new confederates it was learnt, that another party, consisting of 180 Buccaneers, commanded by an Englishman named Townley, had crossed the _Isthmus_, and were building canoes in the _Gulf de San Miguel_; on which intelligence, it was determined to sail to that Gulf, that the whole buccaneer force in this sea might be joined. Grogniet in return for the ship given to the French Buccaneers, offered to Davis and Swan new commissions from the Governor of _Petit Goave_, by whom he had been furnished with spare commissions with blanks, to be filled up and disposed of at his own discretion. Davis accepted Grogniet's present, 'having before only an old commission which had belonged to Captain Tristian, and which, being found in Tristian's ship when she was carried off by Cook, had devolved as an inheritance to Davis.' The commissions which, by whatever means, the Buccaneers procured, were not much protection in the event of their falling into the hands of the Spaniards, unless the nation of which the Buccaneer was a native happened to be then at war with _Spain_. Instances were not uncommon in the _West Indies_ of the Spaniards hanging up their buccaneer prisoners with their commissions about their necks. But the commissions were allowed to be valid in the ports of other powers. Swan however refused the one offered him, and rested his justification on the orders he had received from the Duke of York; in which he was directed, neither to give offence to the Spaniards, nor to submit to receive affront from them: they had done him injury in killing his men at _Baldivia_, and he held his orders to be a lawful commission to do himself right. [Sidenote: March. Townley and his Crew.] On the 3d of March, as they approached the _Gulf de San Miguel_ to meet the Buccaneers under Townley, they were again surprised by seeing two ships standing towards them. These proved to be Townley and his men, in two prizes they had already taken, one laden with flour, the other with wine, brandy, and sugar; both designed for _Panama_. [Sidenote: Pisco Wine.] The wine came from _Pisco_, 'which place is famous for wine, and was contained in jars of seven or eight gallons each. Ships which lade at _Pisco_ stow the jars one tier on the top of another, so artificially that we could hardly do the like without breaking them: yet they often carry in this manner 1500 or 2000, or more, in a ship, and seldom break one.' On this junction of the Buccaneers, they went altogether to the _Pearl Islands_ to make arrangements, and to fit their prize vessels as well as circumstances would admit, for their new occupation. Among the preparations necessary to their equipment, it was not the last which occurred, that the jars from _Pisco_ were wanted to contain their sea stock of fresh water; for which service they were in a short time rendered competent. The 10th, they took a small bark in ballast, from _Guayaquil_. On the 12th, some Indians in a canoe came out of the River _Santa Maria_, purposely to inform them that a large body of English and French Buccaneers were then on their march over the _Isthmus_ from the _North Sea_. This was not all; for on the 15th, one of the small barks which were kept out cruising, fell in with a vessel in which were six Englishmen, who were part of a crew of Buccaneers that had been six months in the _South Sea_, under the command of a William Knight. These six men had been sent in a canoe in chase of a vessel, which they came up with and took; but they had chased out of sight of their own ship, and could not afterwards find her. Davis gave the command of this vessel to Harris, who took possession of her with a crew of his own followers, and he was sent to the River _Santa Maria_ to look for the buccaneers, of whose coming the Indians had given information. This was the latter part of the dry season in the _Bay of Panama_. Hitherto fresh water had been found in plenty at the _Pearl Islands_; but the springs and rivulets were now dried up. The Buccaneers examined within _Point Garachina_, but found no fresh water. [Sidenote: Port de Pinas. 25th. Taboga Isle.] They searched along the coast Southward, and on the 25th, at a narrow opening in the mainland with two small rocky Islands before it, about seven leagues distant from _Point Garachina_, which Dampier supposed to be _Port de Pinas_, they found a stream of good water which ran into the sea; but the harbour was open to the SW, and a swell set in, which rendered watering there difficult and hazardous: the fleet (for they were nine sail in company) therefore stood for the Island _Taboga_, 'where,' says Dampier, 'we were sure to find a supply.' [Sidenote: April.] Their boats being sent before the ships, came unexpectedly upon some of the inhabitants of _Panama_ who were loading a canoe with plantains, and took them prisoners. One among these, a Mulatto, had the imprudence to say he was in the fire-ship which had been sent in the night to burn the Buccaneer ships; upon which, the Buccaneers immediately hanged him. They had chocolate, but no sugar; and all the kettles they possessed, constantly kept boiling, were not sufficient to dress victuals for so many men. Whilst the ships lay at _Taboga_, a detachment was sent to a sugar-work on the mainland, from which they returned with sugar and three coppers. [Sidenote: More Buccaneers arrive.] On the 11th of April, they went from _Tabogo_ to the _Pearl Islands_, and were there joined by the Flibustiers and Buccaneers of whose coming they had been last apprised, consisting of 264 men, commanded by Frenchmen named Rose, Le Picard, and Des-marais. Le Picard was a veteran who had served under Lolonois and Morgan. In this party came Raveneau de Lussan, whose Journal is said to be the only one kept by any of the French who were in this expedition. Lussan's Narrative is written with much misplaced gaiety, which comes early into notice, and shews him to have been, even whilst young and unpractised in the occupation of a Buccaneer, of a disposition delighting in cruelty. In the account of his journey overland from the _West Indies_, he relates instances which he witnessed of the great dexterity of the monkeys which inhabited the forests, and among others the following: '_Je ne puis me souvenir sans rire de l'action que je vis faire a un de ces animaux, auquel apres avoir tiré plusieurs coups de fusil qui lui emportoient une partie du ventre, en sorte que toutes ses tripes sortoient; je le vis se tenir d'une de ses pates, ou mains si l'on veut, a une branche d'arbre, tandis que de l'autre il ramassoit ses intestins qu'il se refouroit dans ce qui lui restoit de ventre[53]._' Ambrose Cowley and Raveneau de Lussan are well matched for comparison, alike not only in their dispositions, but in their conceptions, which made them imagine the recital of such actions would be read with delight. The Buccaneers in the _Bay of Panama_ were now nearly a thousand strong, and they held a consultation whether or not they should attack the city. They had just before learnt from an intercepted packet that the Lima Fleet was at sea, richly charged with treasure; and that it was composed of all the naval force the Spaniards in _Peru_ had been able to collect: it was therefore agreed not to attempt the city at the present, but to wait patiently the arrival of the Spanish fleet, and give it battle. [Sidenote: Chepo.] The only enterprise they undertook on the main-land in the mean time, was against the town of _Chepo_, where they found neither opposition nor plunder. The small Island _Chepillo_ near the mouth of the river which leads to _Chepo_, Dampier reckoned the most pleasant of all the Islands in the _Bay of Panama_. 'It is low on the North side, and rises by a small ascent towards the South side. The soil is yellow, a kind of clay. The low land is planted with all sorts of delicate fruits.' The Islands in the Bay being occupied by the Buccaneers, caused great scarcity of provision and distress at _Panama_, much of the consumption in that city having usually been supplied from the Islands, which on that account and for their pleasantness were called the Gardens of _Panama_. In this situation things remained till near the end of May, the Buccaneers in daily expectation of seeing the fleet from _Lima_, of which it is now time to speak. CHAP. XV. _=Edward Davis= Commander. Meeting of the Spanish and Buccaneer Fleets in the =Bay of Panama=. They separate without fighting. The Buccaneers sail to the Island =Quibo=. The English and French separate. Expedition against the City of =Leon=. That City and =Ria Lexa= burnt. Farther dispersion of the Buccaneers._ [Sidenote: 1685. May. Bay of Panama.] The Viceroy of _Peru_ judged the Fleet he had collected, to be strong enough to encounter the Buccaneers, and did not fear to trust the treasure to its protection; but he gave directions to the Commander of the Fleet to endeavour to avoid a meeting with them until after the treasure should be safely landed. In pursuance of this plan, the Spanish Admiral, as he drew near the _Bay of Panama_, kept more Westward than the usual course, and fell in with the coast of _Veragua_ to the West of the _Punta Mala_. Afterwards, he entered the _Bay_ with his fleet keeping close to the West shore; and to place the treasure out of danger as soon as possible, he landed it at _Lavelia_, thinking it most probable his fleet would be descried by the enemy before he could reach _Panama_, which must have happened if the weather had not been thick, or if the Buccaneers had kept a sharper look-out by stationing tenders across the entrance of the _Bay_. [Sidenote: The Lima Fleet arrives at Panama.] In consequence of this being neglected, the Spanish fleet arrived and anchored before the city of _Panama_ without having been perceived by them, and immediately on their arrival, the crews of the ships were reinforced with a number of European seamen who had purposely been sent over land from _Porto Bello_. Thus strengthened, and the treasure being placed out of danger, the Spanish Admiral took up his anchors, and stood from the road before _Panama_ towards the middle of the Bay, in quest of the Buccaneers. [Sidenote: 28th.] May the 28th, the morning was rainy: the Buccaneer fleet was lying at anchor near the Island _Pacheca_, the Northernmost of the _Pearl Islands_. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon, the weather cleared up, when the Spanish fleet appeared in sight about three leagues distant from them to the WNW. The wind was light from the Southward, and they were standing sharp trimmed towards the Buccaneers. [Sidenote: Meeting of the two Fleets.] Lussan dates this their meeting with the Spanish Fleet, to be on June the 7th. Ten days alteration of the style had taken place in _France_ three years before, and no alteration of style had yet been adopted in _England_. [Sidenote: Force of the Buccaneer.] The Buccaneer fleet was composed of ten sail of vessels, of different sizes, manned with 960 men, almost all Europeans; but, excepting the Batchelor's Delight and the Cygnet, none of their vessels had cannon. Edward Davis was regarded as the Admiral. His ship mounted 36 guns, and had a crew of 156 men, most of them English; but as he was furnished with a French commission, and _France_ was still at war with _Spain_, he carried aloft a white flag, in which was painted a hand and sword. Swan's ship had 16 guns, with a crew of 140 men, all English, and carried a Saint George's flag at her main-topmast head. The rest of their fleet was well provided with small-arms, and the crews were dexterous in the use of them. Grogniet's ship was the most powerful, except in cannon, her crew consisting of 308 men. [Sidenote: Force of the Spanish Fleet.] The Spanish fleet numbered fourteen sail, six of which were provided with cannon; six others with musketry only, and two were fitted up as fire-ships. The buccaneer accounts say the Spanish Admiral had 48 guns mounted, and 450 men; the Vice-Admiral 40 guns, and men in proportion; the Rear-Admiral 36 guns, one of the other ships 24, one 18, and one 8 guns; and that the number of men in their fleet was above 2500; but more than one half of them Indians or slaves. When the two fleets first had sight of each other, Grogniet's ship lay at anchor a mile to leeward of his confederates, on which account he weighed anchor, and stood close upon a wind to the Eastward, intending to turn up to the other ships; but in endeavouring to tack, he missed stays twice, which kept him at a distance all the fore part of the day. From the superiority of the Spaniards in cannon, and of the buccaneer crews in musketry, it was evident that distant fighting was most to the advantage of the Spaniards; and that the Buccaneers had to rest their hopes of success on close fighting and boarding. Davis was fully of this opinion, and at three o'clock in the afternoon, the enemy's fleet being directly to leeward and not far distant, he got his vessels under sail and bore right down upon them, making a signal at the same time to Grogniet to board the Spanish Vice-Admiral, who was some distance separate from the other ships of his fleet. Here may be contemplated the Buccaneers at the highest pitch of elevation to which they at any time attained. If they obtained the victory, it would give them the sole dominion of the _South Sea_; and Davis, the buccaneer Commander, aimed at no less; but he was ill seconded, and was not possessed of authority to enforce obedience to his commands. The order given to Grogniet was not put in execution, and when Davis had arrived with his ship within cannon-shot of the Spaniards, Swan shortened sail and lowered his ensign, to signify he was of opinion that it would be best to postpone fighting till the next day. Davis wanting the support of two of the most able ships of his fleet, was obliged to forego his intention, and no act of hostility passed during the afternoon and evening except the exchange of some shot between his own ship and that of the Spanish Vice-Admiral. When it was dark, the Spanish fleet anchored, and at the same time, the Spanish Admiral took in his light, and ordered a light to be shewn from one of his small vessels, which he sent to leeward. The Buccaneers were deceived by this artifice, believing the light they saw to be that of the Spanish Admiral, and they continued under sail, thinking themselves secure of the weather-gage. [Sidenote: 29th.] At daylight the next morning the Spaniards were seen well collected, whilst the buccaneer vessels were much dispersed. Grogniet and Townley were to windward of the Spaniards; but all the rest, contrary to what they had expected, were to leeward. At sunrise, the Spanish fleet got under sail and bore down towards the leeward buccaneer ships. The Buccaneers thought it not prudent to fight under such disadvantages, and did not wait to receive them. They were near the small Island _Pacheca_, on the South side of which are some Islands yet smaller. Among these Islands, Dampier says, is a narrow channel in one part not forty feet wide. Townley, being pressed by the Spaniards and in danger of being intercepted, pushed for this passage without any previous examination of the depth of water, and got safe through. Davis and Swan, whose ships were the fastest sailing in either fleet, had the credit of affording protection to their flying companions, by waiting to repulse the most advanced of the Spaniards. Dampier, who was in Davis's ship, says, she was pressed upon by the whole Spanish force. 'The Spanish Admiral and the rest of his squadron began to play at us and we at them as fast as we could: yet they kept at distant cannonading. They might have laid us aboard if they would, but they came not within small-arms shot, intending to maul us in pieces with their great guns.' After a circuitous chace and running fight, which lasted till the evening, the Buccaneers, Harris's ship excepted, which had been forced to make off in a different direction, anchored by the Island _Pacheca_, nearly in the same spot whence they had set out in the morning. [Sidenote: 30th.] On the 30th, at daylight, the Spanish fleet was seen at anchor three leagues to leeward. The breeze was faint, and both fleets lay quiet till ten o'clock in the forenoon. The wind then freshened a little from the South, and the Spaniards took up their anchors; but instead of making towards the Buccaneers, they sailed away in a disgraceful manner for _Panama_. Whether they sustained any loss in this skirmishing does not appear. The Buccaneer's had only one man killed outright. In Davis's ship, six men were wounded, and half of her rudder was shot away. [Sidenote: The two Fleets separate.] It might seem to those little acquainted with the management of ships that it could make no material difference whether the Spaniards bore down to engage the Buccaneers, or the Buccaneers bore down to engage the Spaniards; for that in either case when the fleets were closed, the Buccaneers might have tried the event of boarding. But the difference here was, that if the Buccaneers had the weather-gage, it enabled them to close with the enemy in the most speedy manner, which was of much consequence where the disparity in the number of cannon was so great. When the Spaniards had the weather-gage, they would press the approach only near enough to give effect to their cannon, and not near enough for musketry to do them mischief. With this view, they could choose their distance when to stop and bring their broadsides to bear, and leave to the Buccaneers the trouble of making nearer approach, against the wind and a heavy cannonade. Dampier, who has related the transactions of the 28th and 29th very briefly, speaks of the weather-gage here as a decisive advantage. He says, "In the morning (of the 29th) therefore, when we found the enemy had got the weather-gage of us, and were coming upon us with full sail, we ran for it." On this occasion there is no room for commendation on the valour of either party. The Buccaneers, however, knew, by the Spanish fleet coming to them from _Panama_, that the treasure must have been landed, and therefore they could have had little motive for enterprise. The meeting was faintly sought by both sides, and no battle was fought, except a little cannonading during the retreat of the Buccaneers, which on their side was almost wholly confined to the ship of their Commander. Both Dampier and Lussan acknowledge that Edward Davis brought the whole of the buccaneer fleet off safe from the Spaniards by his courage and good management. [Sidenote: June.] On June the 1st, the Buccaneers sailed out of the _Bay of Panama_ for the Island _Quibo_. They had to beat up against SW winds, and had much wet weather. In the middle of June, they anchored on the East side of _Quibo_, where they were joined by Harris. [Sidenote: Keys of Quibo. The Island Quibo.] _Quibo_ and the smaller Islands near it, Dampier calls collectively, the Keys of _Quibo_. They are all woody. Good fresh water was found on the great Island, which would naturally be the case with the wet weather; and here were deer, guanoes, and large black monkeys, whose flesh was esteemed by the Buccaneers to be sweet and wholesome food. [Sidenote: Rock near the Anchorage.] A shoal which runs out from the SE point of _Quibo_ half a mile into the sea, has been already noticed: a league to the North of this shoal, and a mile distant from the shore, is a rock which appears above water only at the last quarter ebb. Except the shoal, and this rock, there is no other danger; and ships may anchor within a quarter of a mile of the shore, in from six to twelve fathoms clear sand and ooze[54]. They stopped at _Quibo_ to make themselves canoes, the trees there being well suited for the purpose, and some so large that a single trunk hollowed and wrought into shape, would carry forty or fifty men. Whilst this work was performing, a strong party was sent to the main-land against _Pueblo Nuevo_, which town was now entered without opposition; but no plunder was obtained. [Sidenote: Serpents. The Serpent Berry.] Lussan relates that two of the Buccaneers were killed by serpents at _Quibo_. He says, 'here are serpents whose bite is so venemous that speedy death inevitably ensues, unless the patient can have immediate recourse to a certain fruit, which must be chewed and applied to the part bitten. The tree which bears this fruit grows here, and in other parts of _America_. It resembles the almond-tree in _France_ in height and in its leaves. The fruit is like the sea chestnut (_Chataines de Mer_) but is of a grey colour, rather bitter in taste, and contains in its middle a whitish almond. The whole is to be chewed together before it is applied. It is called (_Graine à Serpent_) the Serpent Berry.' [Sidenote: July. Disagreements among the Buccaneers.] The dissatisfaction caused by their being foiled in the _Bay of Panama_, broke out in reproaches, and produced great disagreements among the Buccaneers. Many blamed Grogniet for not coming into battle the first day. On the other hand, Lussan blames the behaviour of the English, who, he says, being the greater number, lorded it over the French; that Townley, liking Grogniet's ship better than his own, would have insisted on a change, if the French had not shewn a determination to resist such an imposition. Another cause of complaint against the English was, the indecent and irreverent manner in which they shewed their hatred to the Roman Catholic religion. Lussan says, 'When they entered the Spanish churches, it was their diversion to hack and mutilate every thing with their cutlasses, and to fire their muskets and pistols at the images of the Saints.' [Sidenote: The French separate from the English.] In consequence of these disagreements, 330 of the French joined together under Grogniet, and separated from the English. [Sidenote: Knight, a Buccaneer Commander, joins Davis.] Before either of the parties had left _Quibo_, William Knight, a Buccaneer already mentioned, arrived there in a ship manned with 40 Englishmen and 11 Frenchmen. This small crew of Buccaneers had crossed the _Isthmus_ about nine months before; they had been cruising both on the coast of _New Spain_ and on the coast of _Peru_; and the sum of their successes amounted to their being provided with a good vessel and a good stock of provisions. They had latterly been to the Southward, where they learnt that the _Lima_ fleet had sailed against the Buccaneers before _Panama_, which was the first notice they received of other Buccaneers than themselves being in the _South Sea_. On the intelligence, they immediately sailed for the _Bay of Panama_, that they might be present and share in the capture of the Spaniards, which they believed would inevitably be the result of a meeting. On arriving in the _Bay of Panama_, they learnt what really had happened: nevertheless, they proceeded to _Quibo_ in search of their friends. The Frenchmen in Knight's ship left her to join their countrymen: Knight and the rest of the crew, put themselves under the command of Davis. The ship commanded by Harris, was found to be in a decayed state and untenantable. Another vessel was given to him and his crew; but the whole company were so much crowded for want of ship room, that a number remained constantly in canoes. One of the canoes which they built at _Quibo_ measured 36 feet in length, and between 5 and 6 feet in width. Davis and the English party, having determined to attack the city of _Leon_ in the province of _Nicaragua_, sent an invitation to the French Buccaneers to rejoin them. The French had only one ship, which was far from sufficient to contain their whole number, and they demanded, as a condition of their uniting again with the English, that another vessel should be given to themselves. The English could ill spare a ship, and would not agree to the proposition; the separation therefore was final. Jean Rose, a Frenchman, with fourteen of his countrymen, in a new canoe they had built for themselves, left Grogniet to try their fortunes under Davis. In this, and in other separations which subsequently took place among the Buccaneers, it has been thought the most clear and convenient arrangement of narrative, to follow the fortunes of the buccaneer Commander Edward Davis and his adherents, without interruption, to the conclusion of their adventures in the _South Sea_; and afterwards, to resume the proceedings of the other adventurers. [Sidenote: Proceedings of Edward Davis. August. Expedition against the City of Leon.] On the 20th of July, Davis with eight vessels and 640 men, departed from the Island _Quibo_ for _Ria Lexa_, sailing through the channel between _Quibo_ and the main-land, and along the coast of the latter, which was low and overgrown with thick woods, and appeared thin of inhabitants. August the 9th, at eight in the morning, the ships being then so far out in the offing that they could not be descried from the shore, Davis with 520 men went away in 31 canoes for the harbour of _Ria Lexa_. They set out with fair weather; but at two in the afternoon, a tornado came from the land, with thunder, lightning, and rain, and with such violent gusts of wind that the canoes were all obliged to put right before it, to avoid being overwhelmed by the billows. Dampier remarks generally of the hot latitudes, as Lussan does of the _Pacific Ocean_, that the sea there is soon raised by the wind, and when the wind abates is soon down again. _Up Wind Up Sea, Down Wind Down Sea_, is proverbial between the tropics among seamen. The fierceness of the tornado continued about half an hour, after which the wind gradually abated, and the canoes again made towards the land. At seven in the evening it was calm, and the sea quite smooth. During the night, the Buccaneers, having the direction of a Spanish pilot, entered a narrow creek which led towards _Leon_; but the pilot could not undertake to proceed up till daylight, lest he should mistake, there being several creeks communicating with each other. [Sidenote: Leon.] The city of _Leon_ bordered on the Lake of _Nicaragua_, and was reckoned twenty miles within the sea coast. They went only a part of this distance by the river, when Davis, leaving sixty men to guard the canoes, landed with the rest and marched towards the city, two miles short of which they passed through an Indian town. _Leon_ had a cathedral and three other churches. It was not fortified, and the Spaniards, though they drew up their force in the Great Square or Parade, did not think themselves strong enough to defend the place. About three in the afternoon, the Buccaneers entered, and the Spaniards retired. All the Buccaneers who landed did not arrive at _Leon_ that same day. According to their ability for the march, Davis had disposed his men into divisions. The foremost was composed of all the most active, who marched without delay for the town, the other divisions following as speedily as they were able. The rear division being of course composed of the worst travellers, some of them could not keep pace even with their own division. They all came in afterwards except two, one of whom was killed, and the other taken prisoner. The man killed was a stout grey-headed old man of the name of Swan, aged about 84 years, who had served under Cromwell, and had ever since made privateering or buccaneering his occupation. This veteran would not be dissuaded from going on the enterprise against _Leon_; but his strength failed in the march; and after being left in the road, he was found by the Spaniards, who endeavoured to make him their prisoner; but he refused to surrender, and fired his musket amongst them, having in reserve a pistol still charged; on which he was shot dead. The houses in _Leon_ were large, built of stone, but not high, with gardens about them. 'Some have recommended _Leon_ as the most pleasant place in all _America_; and for health and pleasure it does surpass most places. The country round is of a sandy soil, which soon drinks up the rains to which these parts are much subject[55].' [Sidenote: Leon burnt by the Buccaneers.] The Buccaneers being masters of the city, the Governor sent a flag of truce to treat for its ransom. They demanded 300,000 dollars, and as much provision as would subsist 1000 men four months: also that the Buccaneer taken prisoner should be exchanged. These demands it is probable the Spaniards never intended to comply with; however they prolonged the negociation, till the Buccaneers suspected it was for the purpose of collecting force. Therefore, on the 14th, they set fire to the city, and returned to the coast. The town of _Ria Lexa_ underwent a similar fate, contrary to the intention of the Buccaneer Commander. [Sidenote: Ria Lexa. Town of Ria Lexa burnt.] _Ria Lexa_ is unwholesomely situated in a plain among creeks and swamps, 'and is never free from a noisome smell.' The soil is a strong yellow clay; in the neighbourhood of the town were many sugar-works and beef-farms; pitch, tar, and cordage were made here; with all which commodities the inhabitants carried on a good trade. The Buccaneers supplied themselves with as much as they wanted of these articles, besides which, they received at _Ria Lexa_ 150 head of cattle from a Spanish gentleman, who had been released upon his parole, and promise of making such payment for his ransom; their own man who had been made prisoner was redeemed in exchange for a Spanish lady, and they found in the town 500 packs of flour; which circumstances might have put the Buccaneers in good temper and have induced them to spare the town; 'but,' says Dampier, 'some of our destructive crew, I know not by whose order, set fire to the houses, and we marched away and left them burning.' [Sidenote: Farther Separation of the Buccaneers.] After the _Leon_ expedition, no object of enterprise occurred to them of sufficient magnitude to induce or to enable them to keep together in such large force. Dispersed in small bodies, they expected a better chance of procuring both subsistence and plunder. By general consent therefore, the confederacy which had been preserved of the English Buccaneers was relinquished, and they formed into new parties according to their several inclinations. Swan proposed to cruise along the coast of _New Spain_, and NW-ward, as far as to the entrance of the _Gulf of California_, and thence to take his departure for the _East Indies_. Townley and his followers agreed to try their fortunes with Swan as long as he remained on the coast of New _Spain_; after which they proposed to return to the _Isthmus_. In the course of settling these arrangements, William Dampier, being desirous of going to the _East Indies_, took leave of his commander, Edward Davis, and embarked with Swan. Of these, an account will be given hereafter. CHAP. XVI. _Buccaneers under =Edward Davis=. At =Amapalla= Bay; =Cocos= Island; The =Galapagos= Islands; Coast of =Peru=. Peruvian Wine. =Knight= quits the =South Sea=. Bezoar Stones. Marine productions on Mountains. =Vermejo.= =Davis= joins the French Buccaneers at =Guayaquil=. Long Sea Engagement._ [Sidenote: 1685. August.] With Davis there remained the vessels of Knight and Harris, with a tender, making in all four sail. August the 27th, they sailed from the harbour of _Ria Lexa_, and as they departed Swan saluted them with fifteen guns, to which Davis returned eleven. [Sidenote: Proceedings of the Buccaneers under Edw. Davis. Amapalla Bay.] A sickness had broken out among Davis's people, which was attributed to the unwholesomeness of the air, or the bad water, at _Ria Lexa_. After leaving the place, the disorder increased, on which account Davis sailed to the _Bay of Amapalla_, where on his arrival he built huts on one of the Islands in the Bay for the accommodation of his sick men, and landed them. Above 130 of the Buccaneers were ill with a spotted fever, and several died. Lionel Wafer was surgeon with Davis, and has given a brief account of his proceedings. Wafer, with some others, went on shore to the main land on the South side of _Amapalla Bay_, to seek for provisions. They walked to a beef farm which was about three miles from their landing. [Sidenote: A hot River.] In the way they crossed a hot river in an open savannah, or plain, which they forded with some difficulty on account of its heat. This river issued from under a hill which was not a volcano, though along the coast there were several. 'I had the curiosity,' says Wafer, 'to wade up the stream as far as I had daylight to guide me. The water was clear and shallow, but the steams were like those of a boiling pot, and my hair was wet with them. The river reeked without the hill a great way. Some of our men who had the itch, bathed themselves here, and growing well soon after, their cure was imputed to the sulphureousness or other virtue of this water.' Here were many wolves, who approached so near and so boldly to some who had straggled from the rest of their party, as to give them great alarm, and they did not dare to fire, lest the noise of their guns should bring more wolves about them. [Sidenote: Cocos Island.] Davis remained some weeks at _Amapalla Bay_, and departed thence for the Peruvian coast, with the crews of his ships recovered. In their way Southward they made _Cocos Island_, and anchored in the harbour at the NE part, where they supplied themselves with excellent fresh water and cocoa-nuts. Wafer has given the description following: 'The middle of _Cocos Island_ is a steep hill, surrounded with a plain declining to the sea. This plain is thick set with cocoa-nut trees: but what contributes greatly to the pleasure of the place is, that a great many springs of clear and sweet water rising to the top of the hill, are there gathered as in a deep large bason or pond, and the water having no channel, it overflows the verge of its bason in several places, and runs trickling down in pleasant streams. In some places of its overflowing, the rocky side of the hill being more than perpendicular, and hanging over the plain beneath, the water pours down in a cataract, so as to leave a dry space under the spout, and form a kind of arch of water. The freshness which the falling water gives the air in this hot climate makes this a delightful place. [Sidenote: Effect of Excess in drinking the Milk of the Cocoa-nut.] We did not spare the cocoa-nuts. One day, some of our men being minded to make themselves merry, went ashore and cut down a great many cocoa-nut trees; from which they gathered the fruit, and drew about twenty gallons of the milk. They then sat down and drank healths to the King and Queen, and drank an excessive quantity; yet it did not end in drunkenness: but this liquor so chilled and benumbed their nerves that they could neither go nor stand. Nor could they return on board without the help of those who had not been partakers of the frolick, nor did they recover under four or five days' time[56].' Here Peter Harris broke off consortship, and departed for the _East Indies_. The tender sailed at the same time, probably following the same route. [Sidenote: At the Galapagos Islands.] Davis and Knight continued to associate, and sailed together from _Cocos Island_ to the _Galapagos_. At one of these Islands they found fresh water; the buccaneer Journals do not specify which Island, nor any thing that can be depended upon as certain of its situation. Wafer only says, 'From _Cocos_ we came to one of the _Galapagos Islands_. At this Island there was but one watering-place, and there we careened our ship.' Dampier was not with them at this time; but in describing the _Galapagos_ Isles, he makes the following mention of Davis's careening place. 'Part of what I say of these Islands I had from Captain Davis, who was there afterwards, and careened his ship at neither of the Islands that we were at in 1684, but went to other Islands more to the Westward, which he found to be good habitable Islands, having a deep fat soil capable of producing any thing that grows in those climates: they are well watered, and have plenty of good timber. Captain Harris came hither likewise, and found some Islands that had plenty of mammee-trees, and pretty large rivers. They have good anchoring in many places, so that take the _Galapagos Islands by and large_, they are extraordinary good places for ships in distress to seek relief at[57].' Wafer has not given the date of this visit, which was the second made by Davis to the _Galapagos_; but as he stopped several weeks in the _Gulf of Amapalla_ for the recovery of his sick, and afterwards made some stay at _Cocos Island_, it must have been late in the year, if not after the end, when he arrived at the _Galapagos_, and it is probable, during, or immediately after, a rainy season. The account published by Wafer, excepting what relates to the _Isthmus_ of _Darien_, consists of short notices set down from recollection, and occupying in the whole not above fifty duodecimo pages. He mentions a tree at the Island of the _Galapagos_ where they careened, like a pear-tree, 'low and not shrubby, very sweet in smell, and full of very sweet gum.' Davis and Knight took on board their ships 500 packs or sacks of flour from the stores which had formerly been deposited at the _Galapagos_. The birds had devoured some, in consequence of the bags having been left exposed. [Sidenote: 1686. On the Coast of Peru.] From the _Galapagos_, they sailed to the coast of _Peru_, and cruised in company till near the end of 1686. They captured many vessels, which they released after plundering; and attacked several towns along the coast. They had sharp engagements with the Spaniards at _Guasco_, and at _Pisco_, the particulars of which are not related; but they plundered both the towns. [Sidenote: Peruvian Wine like Madeira.] They landed also at _La Nasca_, a small port on the coast of _Peru_ in latitude about 15° S, at which place they furnished themselves with a stock of wine. Wafer says, 'This is a rich strong wine, in taste much like Madeira. It is brought down out of the country to be shipped for _Lima_ and _Panama_. Sometimes it is kept here many years stopped up in jars, of about eight gallons each: the jars were under no shelter, but exposed to the scorching sun, being placed along the bay and between the rocks, every merchant having his own wine marked.' It could not well have been placed more conveniently for the Buccaneers. They landed at _Coquimbo_, which Wafer describes 'a large town with nine churches.' What they did there is not said. Wafer mentions a small river that emptied itself in a bay, three miles from the town, in which, up the country, the Spaniards get gold. 'The sands of the river by the sea, and round the whole Bay, are all bespangled with particles of gold; insomuch that in travelling along the sandy bays, our people were covered with a fine gold-dust, but too fine for any profit, for it would be an endless work to pick it up.' Statistical accounts of the Viceroyalty of _Peru_, which during a succession of years were printed annually at the end of the _Lima_ Almanack, notice the towns of _Santa Maria de la Perilla_, _Guasca_, _Santiago de Miraflores_, _Cañete_, _Pisco_, _Huara_, and _Guayaquil_, being sacked and in part destroyed by pirates, in the years 1685, 1686, and 1687. [Sidenote: At Juan Fernandez.] Davis and Knight having made much booty (Lussan says so much that the share of each man amounted to 5000 pieces of eight), they went to the Island _Juan Fernandez_ to refit, intending to sail thence for the _West Indies_: but before they had recruited and prepared the ships for the voyage round the South of _America_, Fortune made a new distribution of their plunder. Many lost all their money at play, and they could not endure, after so much peril, to quit the _South Sea_ empty handed, but resolved to revisit the coast of _Peru_. [Sidenote: Knight quits the South Sea.] The more fortunate party embarked with Knight for the _West Indies_. [Sidenote: Davis returns to the Coast of Peru.] The luckless residue, consisting of sixty Englishmen, and twenty Frenchmen, with Edward Davis at their head, remained with the Batchelor's Delight to begin their work afresh. They sailed from _Juan Fernandez_ for the American coast, which they made as far South as the Island _Mocha_. By traffic with the inhabitants, they procured among other provisions, a number of the Llama or Peruvian sheep. [Sidenote: Bezoar Stones.] Wafer relates, that out of the stomach of one of these sheep he took thirteen Bezoar stones of several forms, 'some resembling coral, some round, and all green when first taken out; but by long keeping they turned of an ash colour.' [Sidenote: Marine Productions found on Mountains.] In latitude 26° S, wanting fresh water, they made search for the River _Copiapo_. They landed and ascended the hills in hopes of discovering it. According to Wafer's computation they went eight miles within the coast, ascending mountain beyond mountain till they were a full mile in perpendicular height above the level of the sea. They found the ground there covered with sand and sea-shells, 'which,' says Wafer, 'I the more wondered at, because there were no shell-fish, nor could I ever find any shells, on any part of the sea-coast hereabouts, though I have looked for them in many places.' They did not discover the river they were in search of; but shortly afterwards, they landed at _Arica_, which they plundered; and at the River _Ylo_, where they took in fresh water. At _Arica_ was a house full of Jesuits' bark. [Sidenote: Vermejo.] Wafer relates, 'We also put ashore at _Vermejo_, in 10° S latitude. I was one of those who landed to see for water. We marched about four miles up a sandy bay, which we found covered with the bodies of men, women, and children. These bodies to appearance, seemed as if they had not been above a week dead; but if touched, they proved dry and light as a sponge or piece of cork. We were told by an old Spanish Indian whom we met, that in his father's time, the soil there, which now yielded nothing, was well cultivated and fruitful: that the city of _Wormia_ had been so numerously inhabited with Indians, that they could have handed a fish from hand to hand until it had come to the Inca's hand. But that when the Spaniards came and laid siege to their city, the Indians, rather than yield to their mercy, dug holes in the sand and buried themselves alive. The men as they now lie, have by them their broken bows; and the women their spinning-wheels and distaffs with cotton yarn upon them. Of these dead bodies I brought on board a boy of about ten years of age with an intent to bring him to _England_; but was frustrated of my purpose by the sailors, who had a foolish conceit that the compass would not traverse right whilst there was a dead body on board, so they threw him overboard to my great vexation[58].' [Sidenote: April.] Near this part of the coast of _Peru_, in April 1687, Davis had a severe action with a Spanish frigate, named the Katalina, in which the drunkenness of his crew gave opportunity to the Spanish Commander, who had made a stout defence, to run his ship ashore upon the coast. They fell in with many other Spanish vessels, which, after plundering, they dismissed. Shortly after the engagement with the Spanish frigate Katalina, Davis made a descent at _Payta_, to seek refreshments for his wounded men, and surprised there a courier with dispatches from the Spanish Commander at _Guayaquil_ to the Viceroy at _Lima_, by which he learnt that a large body of English and French Buccaneers had attacked, and were then in possession of, the town of _Guayaquil_. [Sidenote: May.] The Governor had been taken prisoner by the Buccaneers, and the Deputy or next in authority, made pressing instances for speedy succour, in his letter to the Viceroy, which, according to Lussan, contained the following passage: '_The time has expired some days which was appointed for the ransom of our prisoners. I amuse the enemy with the hopes of some thousands of pieces of eight, and they have sent me the heads of four of our prisoners: but if they send me fifty, I should esteem it less prejudicial than our suffering these ruffians to live. If your Excellency will hasten the armament to our assistance, here will be a fair opportunity to rid ourselves of them._' [Sidenote: Davis joins other Buccaneers at Guayaquil.] Upon this news, and the farther intelligence that Spanish ships of war had been dispatched from _Callao_ to the relief of _Guayaquil_, Davis sailed for that place, and, on May the 14th, arrived in the _Bay of Guayaquil_, where he found many of his old confederates; for these were the French Buccaneers who had separated from him under Grogniet, and the English who had gone with Townley. Those two leaders had been overtaken by the perils of their vocation, and were no more. But whilst in their mortal career, and after their separation from Davis, though they had at one time been adverse almost to hostility against each other, they had met, been reconciled, and had associated together. Townley died first, of a wound he received in battle, and was succeeded in the command of the English by a Buccaneer named George Hout or Hutt. At the attack of _Guayaquil_, Grogniet was mortally wounded; and Le Picard was chosen by the French to succeed him in the command. _Guayaquil_ was taken on the 20th of April; the plunder and a number of prisoners had been conveyed by the Buccaneers to their ships, which were at anchor by the Island _Puna_, when their unwearied good fortune brought Davis to join them. The taking of _Guayaquil_ by the Buccaneers under Grogniet and Hutt will be more circumstantially noticed in the sequel, with other proceedings of the same crews. When Davis joined them, they were waiting with hopes, nearly worn out, of obtaining a large ransom which had been promised them for the town of _Guayaquil_, and for their prisoners. [Sidenote: Near the Island Puna.] The information Davis had received made him deem it prudent, instead of going to anchor at _Puna_, to remain with his ship on the look-out in the offing; he therefore sent a prize-vessel into the road to acquaint the Buccaneers there of his being near at hand, and that the Spaniards were to be expected shortly. The captors of _Guayaquil_ continued many days after this to wait for ransom. They had some hundreds of prisoners, for whose sakes the Spaniards sent daily to the Buccaneers large supplies of provisions, of which the prisoners could expect to receive only the surplus after the Buccaneers should be satisfied. At length, the Spaniards sent 42,000 pieces of eight, the most part in gold, and eighty packages of flour. The sum was far short of the first agreement, and the Buccaneers at _Puna_, to make suitable return, released only a part of the prisoners, reserving for a subsequent settlement those of the most consideration. [Sidenote: 26th. Meeting between Spanish Ships of War and the Buccaneers.] On the 26th, they quitted the road of _Puna_, and joined Davis. In the evening of the same day, two large Spanish ships came in sight. Davis's ship mounted 36 guns; and her crew, which had been much diminished by different engagements, was immediately reinforced with 80 men from Le Picard's party. Besides Davis's ship, the Buccaneers had only a small ship and a _barca-longa_ fit to come into action. Their prize vessels which could do no service, were sent for security into shallow water. [Sidenote: A Sea Engagement of seven days.] On the morning of the 27th, the Buccaneers and Spaniards were both without the Island _S^{ta} Clara_. The Spaniards were the farthest out at sea, and had the sea-breeze first, with which they bore down till about noon, when being just within the reach of cannon-shot, they hauled upon a wind, and began a distant cannonade, which was continued till evening: the two parties then drew off to about a league asunder, and anchored for the night. On the morning of the 28th, they took up their anchors, and the day was spent in distant firing, and in endeavours to gain or to keep the wind of each other. The same kind of manoeuvring and distant firing was put in practice on each succeeding day, till the evening of the 2d of June, which completed the seventh day of this obstinate engagement. The Spanish Commander, being then satisfied that he had fought long enough, and hopeless of prevailing on the enemy to yield, withdrew in the night. [Sidenote: June. The Spaniards retire.] On the morning of the 3d, the Buccaneers were surprised, and not displeased, at finding no enemy in sight. During all this fighting, the Buccaneers indulged their vanity by keeping the Governor of _Guayaquil_, and other prisoners of distinction, upon deck, to witness the superiority of their management over that of the Spaniards. It was not indeed a post of much danger, for in the whole seven days battle, not one Buccaneer was killed, and only two or three were wounded. It may be some apology for the Spanish Commander, that in consequence of Davis's junction with the captors of _Guayaquil_, he found a much greater force to contend with than he had been taught to expect. Fortune had been peculiarly unfavourable to the Spaniards on this occasion. Three ships of force had been equipped and sent in company against the Buccaneers at _Guayaquil_. One of them, the Katalina, by accident was separated from the others, and fell in with Davis, by whom she was driven on the coast, where she stranded. The Spanish armament thus weakened one-third, on arriving in the _Bay of Guayaquil_, found the buccaneer force there increased, by this same Davis, in a proportion greater than their own had been diminished. [Sidenote: At the Island De la Plata.] Davis and Le Picard left the choice of distance to the Spaniards in this meeting, not considering it their business to come to serious battle unless forced. They had reason to be satisfied with having defended themselves and their plunder; and after the enemy disappeared, finding the coast clear, they sailed to the Island _De la Plata_, where they stopped to repair damages, and to hold council. They all now inclined homewards. The booty they had made, if it fell short of the expectations of some, was sufficient to make them eager to be where they could use or expend it; but they were not alike provided with the means of returning to the _North Sea_. Davis had a stout ship, and he proposed to go the Southern passage by the _Strait of Magalhanes_, or round _Cape Horne_. No other of the vessels in the possession of the Buccaneers was strong enough for such a voyage. All the French therefore, and many of the English Buccaneers, bent their thoughts on returning overland, an undertaking that would inevitably be attended with much difficulty, encumbered as they were with their plunder, and the Darien Indians having become hostile to them. Almost all the Frenchmen in Davis's ship, left her to join their countrymen, and many of the English from their party embarked with Davis. All thoughts of farther negociation with the Spaniards for the ransom of prisoners, were relinquished. Le Picard had given notice on quitting the _Bay of Guayaquil_, that payment would be expected for the release of the remaining prisoners, and that the Buccaneers would wait for it at _Cape Santa Elena_; but they had passed that _Cape_, and it was apprehended that if they returned thither, instead of receiving ransom, they might find the Spanish ships of war, come to renew the attack on them under other Commanders. On the 10th, they landed their prisoners on the Continent. [Sidenote: Division of Plunder.] The next day they shared the plunder taken at _Guayaquil_. The jewels and ornaments could not well be divided, nor could their value be estimated to general satisfaction: neither could they agree upon a standard proportion between the value of gold and silver. Every man was desirous to receive for his share such parts of the spoil as were most portable, and this was more especially of importance to those who intended to march overland. The value of gold was so much enhanced that an ounce of gold was received in lieu of eighty dollars, and a Spanish pistole went for fifteen dollars; but these instances probably took place in settling their gaming accounts. In the division of the plunder these difficulties were obviated by a very ingenious and unobjectionable mode of distribution. The silver was first divided: the other articles were then put up to auction, and bid for in pieces of eight; and when all were so disposed of, a second division was made of the silver produced by the sale. Davis and his company were not present at the taking of _Guayaquil_, but the services they had rendered, had saved both the plunder and the plunderers, and gave them a fair claim to share. Neither Wafer nor Lussan speak to this point, from which it may be inferred that every thing relating to the division was settled among them amicably, and that Davis and his men had no reason to be dissatisfied. Lussan gives a loose statement of the sum total and of the single shares. 'Notwithstanding that these things were sold so dearly, we shared for the taking of _Guayaquil_ only 400 pieces of eight to each man, which would make in the whole about fifteen hundred thousand _livres_.' The number of Buccaneers with Grogniet and Hutt immediately previous to the attack of _Guayaquil_, was 304. Davis's crew at the time he separated from Knight, consisted of eighty men. He had afterwards lost men in several encounters, and it is probable the whole number present at the sharing of the plunder of _Guayaquil_ was short of three hundred and fifty. Allowing the extra shares to officers to have been 150, making the whole number of shares 500, the amount of the plunder will fall short of Lussan's estimate. [Sidenote: They separate to return home by different Routes.] On the 12th, the two parties finally took leave of each other and separated, bound by different routes for the _Atlantic_. CHAP. XVII. _=Edward Davis=; his Third visit to the =Galapagos=. One of those Islands, named =Santa Maria de l'Aguada= by the Spaniards, a Careening Place of the Buccaneers. Sailing thence Southward they discover Land. Question, whether Edward Davis's Discovery is the Land which was afterwards named =Easter Island=? =Davis= and his Crew arrive in the =West Indies=._ [Sidenote: 1687. Davis sails to the Galapagos Islands.] Davis again sailed to the _Galapagos Islands_, to victual and refit his ship. Lionel Wafer was still with him, and appears to have been one of those to whom fortune had been most unpropitious. Wafer does not mention either the joining company with the French Buccaneers, or the plunder of _Guayaquil_; and particularises few of his adventures. He says, 'I shall not pursue all my coasting along the shore of _Peru_ with Captain Davis. We continued rambling about to little purpose, sometimes at sea, sometimes ashore, till having spent much time and visited many places, we were got again to the _Galapagos_; from whence we were determined to make the best of our way out of these seas.' At the _Galapagos_ they again careened; and there they victualled the ship, taking on board a large supply of flour, curing fish, salting flesh of the land turtle for sea store; and they saved as much of the oil of the land turtle as filled sixty jars (of eight gallons each) which proved excellent, and was thought not inferior to fresh butter. [Sidenote: King James's Island.] Captain Colnet was at the _Galapagos Isles_ in the years 1793 and 1794, and found traces, still fresh, which marked the haunts of the Buccaneers. He says, 'At every place where we landed on the Western side of _King James's Isle_, we might have walked for miles through long grass and beneath groves of trees. It only wanted a stream to compose a very charming landscape. This Isle appears to have been a favourite resort of the Buccaneers, as we found seats made by them of earth and stone, and a considerable number of broken jars scattered about, and some whole, in which the Peruvian wine and liquors of the country are preserved. We also found daggers, nails, and other implements. The watering-place of the Buccaneers was at this time (the latter part of April or beginning of May) entirely dried up, and there was only found a small rivulet between two hills running into the sea; the Northernmost of which hills forms the South point of _Fresh Water Bay_. There is plenty of wood, but that near the shore is not large enough for other use than fire-wood. In the mountains the trees may be larger, as they grow to the summits. I do not think the watering-place we saw is the only one on the Island, and I have no doubt, if wells were dug any where beneath the hills, and not near the lagoon behind the sandy beach, that fresh water would be found in great plenty[59].' Since Captain Colnet's Voyage, Captain David Porter of the American United States' frigate Essex, has seen and given descriptions of the _Galapagos_ Islands. He relates an anecdote which accords with Captain Colnet's opinion of there being fresh water at _King James's Island_. He landed, on its West side, four goats (one male and three female) and some sheep, to graze. As they were tame and of their own accord kept near the landing-place, they were left every night without a keeper, and water was carried to them in the morning. 'But one morning, after they had been on the Island several days and nights, the person who attended them went on shore as usual to give them water, but no goats were to be found: they had all as with one accord disappeared. Several persons were sent to search after them for two or three days, but without success.' Captain Porter concluded that they had found fresh water in the interior of the Island, and chose to remain near it. 'One fact,' he says, 'was noticed by myself and many others, the day preceding their departure, which must lead us to believe that something more than chance directed their movements, which is, that they all drank an unusual quantity of water on that day, as though they had determined to provide themselves with a supply to enable them to reach the mountains[60].' Davis and his men had leisure for search and to make every kind of experiment; but no one of his party has given any description or account of what was transacted at the _Galapagos_ in this his third visit. Light, however, has been derived from late voyages. [Sidenote: The Island S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada, a Careening Place of the Buccaneers.] It has been generally believed, but not till lately ascertained, that Davis passed most of the time he was amongst the _Galapagos_, at an Island which the Spaniards have designated by the name of _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_, concerning the situation of which the Spaniards as well as geographers of other countries have disagreed. A Spanish pilot reported to Captain Woodes Rogers that _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_ lay by itself, (i. e. was not one of a groupe of Islands) in latitude 1° 20' or 1° 30' S, was a pleasant Island, well stocked with wood, and with plenty of fresh water[61]. Moll, DeVaugondy, and others, combining the accounts given by Dampier and Woodes Rogers, have placed a _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_ several degrees to the Westward of the whole of Cowley's groupe. Don Antonio de Ulloa, on the contrary, has laid it down as one of the _Galapagos Isles_, but among the most South-eastern of the whole groupe. More consonant with recent information, Pascoe Thomas, who sailed round the world with Commodore Anson, has given from a Spanish manuscript the situations of different Islands of the _Galapagos_, and among them that of _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_. The most Western in the Spanish list published by Thomas is named _S^{ta} Margarita_, and is the same with the _Albemarle Island_ in Cowley's chart. The _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_ is set down in the same Spanish list in latitude 1° 10' S, and 19 minutes in longitude more East than the longitude given of _S^{ta} Margarita_, which situation is due South of Cowley's _King James's Island_. Captain Colnet saw land due South of _King James's Island_, which he did not anchor at or examine, and appears to have mistaken for the _King Charles's Island_ of Cowley's chart. On comparing Captain Colnet's chart with Cowley's, it is evident that Captain Colnet has given the name of _Lord Chatham's Isle_ to Cowley's _King Charles's Island_, the bearings and distance from the South end of _Albemarle Island_ being the same in both, i. e. due East about 20 leagues. It follows that the _Charles Island_ of Colnet's chart was not seen by Cowley, and that it is the _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_ of the Spaniards. It has lately been frequented by English and by American vessels employed in the South Sea Whale Fishery, who have found a good harbour on its North side, with wood and fresh water; and marks are yet discoverable that it was formerly a careening place of the buccaneers. Mr. Arrowsmith has added this harbour to Captain Colnet's chart, on the authority of information communicated by the master of a South Sea whaler. From Captain David Porter's Journal, it appears that the watering-place at _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_ is three miles distant from any part of the sea-shore; and that the supply it yields is not constant. On arriving a second time at the _Galapagos_, in the latter part of August, Captain Porter sent a boat on shore to this Island. Captain Porter relates, 'I gave directions that our former watering-places there should be examined, but was informed that they were entirely dried up.' [Illustration: GALLAPAGOS ISLANDS, _Described by_ Ambrose Cowley _in 1684_.] Cowley's chart, being original, a buccaneer performance, and not wholly out of use, is annexed to this account; with the insertion, in unshaded outline, of the _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_, according to its situation with respect to _Albemarle Island_, as laid down in the last edition of Captain Colnet's chart, published by Mr. Arrowsmith. This unavoidably makes a difference in the latitude equal to the difference between Cowley's and Captain Colnet's latitude of the South end of _Albemarle Island_. In Captain Colnet's chart, the North end of _S^{ta} Maria de l'Aguada_ is laid down in 1° 15' S. The voyage of the Essex gives reasonable expectation of an improved chart of the _Galapagos Isles_, the Rev. Mr. Adams, who sailed as Chaplain in that expedition, having employed himself actively in surveying them. [Sidenote: 1687. Davis sails from the Galapagos to the Southward.] When the season approached for making the passage round _Cape Horne_, Davis and his company quitted their retreat. The date of their sailing is not given. Wafer relates, 'From the _Galapagos Islands_ we went again for the Southward, intending to touch no where till we came to the Island _Juan Fernandez_. In our way thither, being in the latitude of 12° 30' S, and about 150 leagues from the main of _America_, about four o'clock in the morning, our ship felt a terrible shock, so sudden and violent that we took it for granted she had struck upon a rock. When the amazement was a little over, we cast the lead and sounded, but found no ground, so we concluded it must certainly be some earthquake. The sea, which ordinarily looks green, seemed then of a whitish colour; and the water which we took up in the buckets for the ship's use, we found to be a little mixed with sand. Some time after, we heard that at that very time, there was an earthquake at _Callao_, which did mischief both there and at _Lima_.' [Sidenote: Island discovered by Edw. Davis.] 'Having recovered our fright, we kept on to the Southward. We steered SbE 1/2 Easterly, until we came to the latitude of 27° 20' S, when about two hours before day, we fell in with a small low sandy Island, and heard a great roaring noise, like that of the sea beating upon the shore, right ahead of the ship. Whereupon, fearing to fall foul upon the shore before day, the ship was put about. So we plied off till day, and then stood in again with the land, which proved to be a small flat Island, without the guard of any rocks. We stood in within a quarter of a mile of the shore, and could see it plainly, for it was a clear morning. To the Westward, about twelve leagues by judgement, we saw a range of high land, which we took to be Islands, for there were several partitions in the prospect. This land seemed to reach about 14 or 16 leagues in a range, and there came thence great flocks of fowls. I, and many of our men would have made this land, and have gone ashore at it, but the Captain would not permit us. The small Island bears from _Copiapo_ almost due East [West was intended] 500 leagues, and from the _Galapagos_ under the line is distant 600 leagues[62].' Dampier was not present at this discovery; but he met his old Commander afterwards, and relates information he received concerning it in the following words. 'Captain Davis told me lately, that after his departing from us at _Ria Lexa_, he went, after several traverses, to the _Galapagos_, and that standing thence Southward for wind to bring him about the _Tierra del Fuego_, in the latitude of 27° S, about 500 leagues from _Copayapo_ on the coast of _Chili_, he saw a small sandy Island just by him; and that they saw to the Westward of it a long tract of pretty high land, tending away toward the NW out of sight[63].' [Sidenote: Question whether Edward Davis's Land and Easter Island are the same Land, or different.] The two preceding paragraphs contain the whole which either in Wafer or Dampier is said concerning this land. The apprehension of being late in the season for the passage round _Cape Horne_ seems to have deterred Davis from making examination of his discovery. The latitude and specified distance from _Copiapo_ were particulars sufficient to direct future search; and twenty-five years afterwards, Jacob Roggewein, a Dutch navigator, guided by those marks, found land; but it being more distant from the American Continent than stated by Davis or Wafer, Roggewein claimed it as a new discovery. A more convenient place for discussing this point, which has been a lasting subject of dispute among geographers, would be in an account of Roggewein's voyage; but a few remarks here may be satisfactory. Wafer kept neither journal nor reckoning, his profession not being that of a mariner; and from circumstances which occur in Davis's navigation to the _Atlantic_, it may reasonably be doubted whether a regular reckoning or journal was kept by any person on board; and whether the 500 leagues distance of the small Island from the American coast mentioned by Davis and Wafer, was other than a conjectured distance. They had no superior by whom a journal of their proceedings would be required or expected. If a regular journal had really been kept, it would most probably have found its way to the press. Jacob Roggewein, the Dutch Admiral, was more than any other navigator, willing to give himself the credit of making new discoveries, as the following extracts from the Journal of his expedition will evince. 'We looked for _Hawkins's Maiden Land_, but could not find it; but we discovered an Island 200 leagues in circuit, in latitude 52° S, about 200 leagues distant to the East of the coast of _South America_, which we named _Belgia Austral_.' That is as much as to say, Admiral Roggewein could not find _Hawkins's Maiden Land_; but he discovered land on the same spot, which he named _Belgia Austral_. Afterwards, proceeding in the same disposition, the Journal relates, 'We directed our course from _Juan Fernandez_ towards _Davis's Land_, but to the great astonishment of the Admiral (Roggewein) it was not seen. I think we either missed it, or that there is no such land. We went on towards the West, and on the anniversary of the Resurrection of our Saviour, we came in sight of an Island. We named it _Paaschen_ or _Oster Eylandt_ (i. e. Easter Island).' _Paaschen_ or _Easter Island_ according to modern charts and observations, is nearly 690 leagues distant from _Copiapo_, which is in the same parallel on the Continent of _America_. The statement of Davis and Wafer makes the distance only 512 leagues, which is a difference of 178 leagues. It is not probable that Davis could have had good information of the longitudes of the _Galapagos Islands_ and _Copiapo_; but with every allowance, so large an error as 178 leagues in a run of 600 leagues might be thought incredible, if its possibility had not been demonstrated by a much greater being made by the same persons in this same homeward passage; as will be related. In the latitude and appearance of the land, the descriptions of Davis and Wafer are correct, _Easter Island_ being a mountainous land, which will make partitions in the distant prospect and appear like a number of Islands. Roggewein's claim to _Paaschen_ or _Easter Island_ as a new discovery has had countenance and support from geographers, some of the first eminence, but has been made a subject of jealous contest, and not of impartial investigation. If Roggewein discovered an Island farther to the West of the American coast than _Davis's Land_, it must follow that Davis's land lies between his discovery and the Continent; but that part of the _South Sea_ has been so much explored, that if any high land had existed between _Easter Island_ and the American coast, it could not have escaped being known. There is not the least improbability that ships, in making a passage from the _Galapagos Isles_ through the South East trade-wind, shall come into the neighbourhood of _Easter Island_. Edward Davis has generally been thought a native of _England_, but according to Lussan, and nothing appears to the contrary, he was a native of _Holland_. The majority of the Buccaneers in the ship, however, were British. How far to that source may be traced the disposition to refuse the Buccaneers the credit of the discovery, and how much national partialities have contributed to the dispute, may be judged from this circumstance, that _Easter Island_ being _Davis's Land_ has never been doubted by British geographers, and has been questioned only by those of other nations. The merit of the discovery is nothing, for the Buccaneers were not in search of land, but came without design in sight of it, and would not look at what they had accidentally found. And whether the discovery is to be attributed to Edward Davis or to his crew, ought to be esteemed of little concern to the nations of which they were natives, seeing the discoverers were men outlawed, and whose acts were disowned by the governments of their countries. Passing from considerations of claims to consideration of the fact;--there is not the smallest plea for questioning, nor has any one questioned the truth of the Buccaneers having discovered a high Island West of the American coast, in or near the latitude of 27° S. If different from _Easter Island_, it must be supposed to be situated between that and the Continent. But however much it has been insisted or argued that _Easter Island_ is not _Davis's Land_, no chart has yet pretended to shew two separate Islands, one for Edward Davis's discovery, and one for Roggewein's. The one Island known has been in constant requisition for double duty; and must continue so until another Island of the same description shall be found. [Sidenote: 1687. At the Island Juan Fernandez.] Davis arrived at _Juan Fernandez_ 'at the latter end of the year,' and careened there. Since the Buccaneers were last at the Island, the Spaniards had put dogs on shore, for the purpose of killing the goats. Many, however, found places among precipices, where the dogs could not get at them, and the Buccaneers shot as many as served for their daily consumption. Here again, five men of Davis's crew, who had gamed away their money, 'and were unwilling to return out of these seas as poor as they came in,' determined on staying at _Juan Fernandez_, to take the chance of some other buccaneer ship, or privateer, touching at the Island. A canoe, arms, ammunition, and various implements were given to them, with a stock of maize for planting, and some for their immediate subsistence; and each of these gentlemen had a negro attendant landed with him. From _Juan Fernandez_, Davis sailed to the Islands _Mocha_ and _Santa Maria_, near the Continent, where he expected to have procured provisions, but he found both those Islands deserted and laid waste, the Spaniards having obliged the inhabitants to remove, that the Buccaneers might not obtain supply there. The season was advanced, therefore without expending more time in searching for provisions, they bent their course Southward. They passed round _Cape Horne_ without seeing land, but fell in with many Islands of ice, and ran so far Eastward before they ventured to steer a Northerly course, that afterwards, when, in the parallel of the _River de la Plata_, they steered Westward to make the American coast, which they believed to be only one hundred leagues distant, they sailed 'four hundred and fifty leagues to the West in the same latitude,' before they came in sight of land; whence many began to apprehend they were still in the _South Sea_[64], and this belief would have gained ground, if a flight of locusts had not alighted on the ship, which a strong flurry of wind had blown off from the American coast. [Sidenote: 1688. Davis sails to the West Indies.] They arrived in the _West Indies_ in the spring of the year 1688, at a time when a proclamation had recently been issued, offering the King's pardon to all Buccaneers who would quit that way of life, and claim the benefit of the proclamation. It was not the least of fortune's favours to this crew of Buccaneers, that they should find it in their power, without any care or forethought of their own, to terminate a long course of piratical adventures in quietness and security. Edward Davis was afterwards in _England_, as appears by the notice given of his discovery by William Dampier, who mentions him always with peculiar respect. Though a Buccaneer, he was a man of much sterling worth; being an excellent Commander, courageous, never rash, and endued in a superior degree with prudence, moderation, and steadiness; qualities in which the Buccaneers generally have been most deficient. His character is not stained with acts of cruelty; on the contrary, wherever he commanded, he restrained the ferocity of his companions. It is no small testimony of his abilities that the whole of the Buccaneers in the _South Sea_ during his time, in every enterprise wherein he bore part, voluntarily placed themselves under his guidance, and paid him obedience as their leader; and no symptom occurs of their having at any time wavered in this respect, or shewn inclination to set up a rival authority. It may almost be said, that the only matter in which they were not capricious was their confidence in his management; and in it they found their advantage, if not their preservation. CHAP. XVIII. _Adventures of =Swan= and =Townley= on the Coast of =New Spain=, until their Separation._ [Sidenote: Swan and Townley.] The South Sea adventures of the buccaneer Chief Davis being brought to a conclusion, the next related will be those of Swan and his crew in the Cygnet, they being the first of the Buccaneers who after the battle in the _Bay of Panama_ left the _South Sea_. William Dampier who was in Swan's ship, kept a Journal of their proceedings, which is published, and the manuscript also has been preserved. [Sidenote: 1685. August.] Swan and Townley, the reader may recollect, were left by Edward Davis in the harbour of _Ria Lexa_, in the latter part of August 1685, and had agreed to keep company together Westward towards the entrance of the _Gulf of California_. [Sidenote: Bad Water, and Unhealthiness of Ria Lexa.] They remained at _Ria Lexa_ some days longer to take in fresh water, 'such as it was,' and they experienced from it the same bad effects which it had on Davis's men; for, joined to the unwholesomeness of the place, it produced a malignant fever, by which several were carried off. [Sidenote: September. On the Coast of New Spain.] On September the 3d, they put to sea, four sail in company, i. e. the Cygnet, Townley's ship, and two tenders; the total of the crews being 340 men. [Sidenote: Tornadoes.] The season was not favourable for getting Westward along this coast. Westerly winds were prevalent, and scarcely a day passed without one or two violent tornadoes, which were accompanied with frightful flashes of lightning, and claps of thunder, 'the like,' says Dampier, 'I did never meet with before nor since.' These tornadoes generally came out of the NE, very fierce, and did not last long. When the tornado was passed, the wind again settled Westward. On account of these storms, Swan and Townley kept a large offing; but towards the end of the month, the weather became settled. On the 24th, Townley, and 106 men in nine canoes, went on Westward, whilst the ships lay by two days with furled sails, to give them time to get well forward, by which they would come the more unexpectedly upon any place along the coast. [Sidenote: October.] Townley proceeded, without finding harbour or inlet, to the Bay of _Tecuantepeque_, where putting ashore at a sandy beach, the canoes were all overset by the surf, one man drowned, and some muskets lost. Townley however drew the canoes up dry, and marched into the country; but notwithstanding that they had not discovered any inlet on the coast, they found the country intersected with great creeks not fordable, and were forced to return to their canoes. A body of Spaniards and Indians came to reconnoitre them, from the town of _Tecuantepeque_, to seek which place was the chief purpose of the Buccaneers when they landed. 'The Spanish books,' says Dampier, 'mention a large river there, but whether it was run away at this time, or rather that Captain Townley and his men were shortsighted, I know not; but they did not find it.' October the 2d, the canoes returned to the ships. The wind was fresh and fair from the ENE, and they sailed Westward, keeping within short distance of the shore, but found neither harbour nor opening. They had soundings all the way, the depth being 21 fathoms, a coarse sandy bottom, at eight miles distance from the land. [Sidenote: Island Tangola.] Having run about 20 leagues along the coast, they came to a small high Island called _Tangola_, on which they found wood and water; and near it, good anchorage. 'This Island is about a league distant from the main, which is pretty high, and savannah land by the sea; but within land it is higher and woody.'---- [Sidenote: Guatulco. El Buffadore, a spouting Rock.] 'We coasted a league farther, and came to _Guatulco_, in latitude 15° 30', which is one of the best ports in this Kingdom of _Mexico_. Near a mile from the mouth of the harbour, on the East side, is a little Island close by the main-land. On the West side of the mouth of the harbour, is a great hollow rock, which by the continual working of the sea in and out, makes a great noise, and may be heard a great way; every surge that comes in, forces the water out at a little hole at the top, as out of a pipe, from whence it flies out just like the blowing of a whale, to which the Spaniards liken it, and call it _El Buffadore_. Even at the calmest seasons, the beating of the sea makes the waterspout out at the hole, so that this is always a good mark to find the harbour of _Guatulco_ by. [Sidenote: The Harbour of Guatulco.] The harbour runs in NW, is about three miles deep, and one mile broad. The West side of the harbour is the best for small ships to ride in: any where else you are open to SW winds, which often blow here. There is clean ground any where, and good gradual soundings from 16 to 6 fathoms: it is bounded by a smooth sandy shore, good for landing; and at the bottom of the harbour is a fine brook of fresh water running into the sea. The country is extraordinary pleasant and delightful to behold at a distance[65].' There appeared to be so few inhabitants at this part of the coast, that the Buccaneers were not afraid to land their sick. A party of men went Eastward to seek for houses and inhabitants, and at a league distance from _Guatulco_ they found a river, named by the Spaniards _El Capalita_, which had a swift current, and was deep at the entrance. They took a few Indians prisoners, but learnt nothing of the country from them. [Sidenote: Vinello, or Vanilla, a Plant.] On the 6th, Townley with 140 men marched fourteen miles inland, and in all that way found only one small Indian village, the inhabitants of which cultivated and cured a plant called _Vinello_, which grows on a vine, and is used to perfume chocolate, and sometimes tobacco. The 10th, the canoes were sent Westward; and on the 12th, the ships followed, the crews being well recovered of the _Ria Lexa_ fever. 'The coast (from _Guatulco_) lies along West and a little Southerly for 20 or 30 leagues[66].' [Sidenote: Island Sacrificio.] On account of a current which set Eastward, they anchored near a small green Island named _Sacrificio_, about a league to the West of _Guatulco_, and half a mile from the main. In the channel between, was five or six fathoms depth, and the tide ran there very swift. [Sidenote: Port de Angeles.] They advanced Westward; but slowly. The canoes were again overset in attempting to land near _Port de Angeles_, at a place where cattle were seen feeding, and another man was drowned. Dampier says, 'We were at this time abreast of _Port de Angeles_, but those who had gone in the canoes did not know it, because the Spaniards describe it to be as good a harbour as _Guatulco_. It is a broad open bay with two or three rocks at the West side. There is good anchorage all over the bay in depth from 30 to 12 fathoms, but you are open to all winds till you come into 12 fathoms, and then you are sheltered from the WSW, which is here the common trade-wind. Here always is a great swell, and landing is bad. The place of landing is close by the West side, behind a few rocks. Latitude 15° N. The tide rises about five feet. The land round _Port de Angeles_ is pretty high, the earth sandy and yellow, in some places red.' The Buccaneers landed at _Port de Angeles_, and supplied themselves with cattle, hogs, poultry, maize, and salt; and a large party of them remained feasting three days at a farm-house. The 27th, they sailed on Westward. Some of their canoes in seeking _Port de Angeles_ had been as far Westward as _Acapulco_. In their way back, they found a river, into which they went, and filled fresh water. Afterwards, they entered a _lagune_ or lake of salt water, where fishermen had cured, and stored up fish, of which the Buccaneers took away a quantity. [Sidenote: Adventure in a Lagune.] On the evening of the 27th, Swan and Townley anchored in 16 fathoms depth, near a small rocky Island, six leagues Westward of _Port de Angeles_, and about half a mile distant from the main land. The next day they sailed on, and in the night of the 28th, being abreast the lagune above mentioned, a canoe manned with twelve men was sent to bring off more of the fish. The entrance into the lagune was not more than pistol-shot wide, and on each side were rocks, high enough and convenient to skreen or conceal men. The Spaniards having more expectation of this second visit than they had of the first, a party of them, provided with muskets, took station behind these rocks. They waited patiently till the canoe of the Buccaneers was fairly within the lagune, and then fired their volley, and wounded five men. The buccaneer crew were not a little surprised, yet returned the fire; but not daring to repass the narrow entrance, they rowed to the middle of the lagune, where they lay out of the reach of shot. There was no other passage out but the one by which they had entered, which besides being so narrow was a quarter of a mile in length, and it was too desperate an undertaking to attempt to repass it. Not knowing what else to do, they lay still two whole days and three nights in hopes of relief from the ships. It was not an uncommon circumstance among the Buccaneers, for parties sent away on any particular design, to undertake some new adventure; the long absence of the canoe therefore created little surprise in the ships, which lay off at sea waiting without solicitude for her return; till Townley's ship happening to stand nearer to the shore than the rest, heard muskets fired in the lagune. He then sent a strong party in his canoes, which obliged the Spaniards to retreat from the rocks, and leave the passage free for the hitherto penned-up Buccaneers. Dampier gives the latitude of this lagune, 'about 16° 40' N.' [Sidenote: November. Alcatraz Rock. White Cliffs. River to the West of the Cliffs.] They coasted on Westward, with fair weather, and a current setting to the West. On November the 2d, they passed a rock called by the Spaniards the _Alcatraz_ (Pelican.) 'Five or six miles to the West of the rock are seven or eight white cliffs, which are remarkable, because there are none other so white and so thick together on all the coast. A dangerous shoal lies SbW from these cliffs, four or five miles off at sea. Two leagues to the West of these cliffs is a pretty large river, which forms a small Island at its mouth. The channel on the East side is shoal and sandy; the West channel is deep enough for canoes to enter.' The Spaniards had raised a breastwork on the banks of this channel, and they made a show of resisting the Buccaneers; but seeing they were determined on landing, they quitted the place; on which Dampier honestly remarks, 'One chief reason why the Spaniards are so frequently routed by us, though much our superiors in number, is, their want of fire-arms; for they have but few unless near their large garrisons.' [Sidenote: Snook, a Fish.] A large quantity of salt intended for salting the fish caught in the lagune, was taken here. Dampier says, 'The fish in these lagunes were of a kind called Snooks, which are neither sea-fish nor fresh-water fish; it is about a foot long, round, and as thick as the small of a man's leg, has a pretty long head, whitish scales, and is good meat.' [Sidenote: November 7th. High Land of Acapulco.] A Mulatto whom they took prisoner told them that a ship of twenty guns had lately arrived at _Acapulco_ from _Lima_. Townley and his crew had long been dissatisfied with their ship; and in hopes of getting a better, they stood towards the harbour of _Acapulco_. On the 7th, they made the high land over _Acapulco_, 'which is remarkable by a round hill standing between two other hills, both higher, the Westernmost of which is the biggest and the highest, and has two hillocks like two paps at the top.' Dampier gives the latitude of _Acapulco_ 17° N[67]. This was not near the usual time either of the departure or of the arrival of the Manila ships, and except at those times, _Acapulco_ is almost deserted on account of the situation being unhealthy. _Acapulco_ is described hot, unwholesome, pestered with gnats, and having nothing good but the harbour. Merchants depart from it as soon as they have transacted their business. Townley accordingly expected to bring off the _Lima_ ship quietly, and with little trouble. In the evening of the 7th, the ships being then so far from land that they could not be descried, Townley with 140 men departed in twelve canoes for the harbour of _Acapulco_. They did not reach _Port Marques_ till the second night; and on the third night they rowed softly and unperceived by the Spaniards into _Acapulco Harbour_. They found the _Lima_ ship moored close to the castle, and, after reconnoitring, thought it would not be in their power to bring her off; so they paddled back quietly out of the harbour, and returned to their ships, tired and disappointed. [Sidenote: Sandy Beach, West of Acapulco. Hill of Petaplan.] Westward from the Port of _Acapulco_, they passed a sandy bay or beach above twenty leagues in length, the sea all the way beating with such force on the shore that a boat could not approach with safety. 'There was clean anchoring ground at a mile or two from the shore. At the West end of this Bay, in 17° 30' N, is the Hill of _Petaplan_, which is a round point stretching out into the sea, and at a distance seems an Island[68].' This was reckoned twenty-five leagues from _Acapulco_. A little to the West of the hill are several round white rocks. They sailed within the rocks, having 11 fathoms depth, and anchored on the NW side of the hill. Their Mosquito men took here some small turtle and small jew-fish. They landed, and at an Indian village took a Mulatto woman and her children, whom they carried on board. They learnt from her that a caravan drawn by mules was going with flour and other goods to _Acapulco_, but that the carrier had stopped on the road from apprehension of the Buccaneers. [Sidenote: Chequetan.] The ships weighed their anchors, and ran about two leagues farther Westward, to a place called _Chequetan_, which Dampier thus describes: 'A mile and a half from the shore is a small Key (or Island) and within it is a very good harbour, where ships may careen: here is also a small river of fresh water, and wood enough.' [Sidenote: 14th. Estapa.] On the 14th, in the morning, about a hundred Buccaneers set off in search of the carrier, taking the woman prisoner for a guide. They landed a league to the West of _Chequetan_, at a place called _Estapa_, and their conductress led them through a wood, by the side of a river, about a league, which brought them to a savannah full of cattle; and here at a farm-house the carrier and his mules were lodged. He had 40 packs of flour, some chocolate, small cheeses, and earthenware. The eatables, with the addition of eighteen beeves which they killed, the Buccaneers laid on the backs of above fifty mules which were at hand, and drove them to their boats. A present of clothes was made to the woman, and she, with two of her children, were set at liberty; but the other child, a boy seven or eight years old, Swan kept, against the earnest intreaties of the mother. Dampier says, 'Captain Swan promised her to make much of him, and was as good as his word. He proved afterwards a fine boy for wit, courage, and dexterity.' [Sidenote: 21st. Hill of Thelupan.] They proceeded Westward along the coast, which was high land full of ragged hills, but with pleasant and fruitful vallies between. The 25th, they were abreast a hill, 'which towered above his fellows, and was divided in the top, making two small parts. It is in latitude 18° 8' N. The Spaniards mention a town called _Thelupan_ near this hill.' The 26th, the Captains Swan and Townley went in the canoes with 200 men, to seek the city of _Colima_, which was reported to be a rich place: but their search was fruitless. They rowed 20 leagues along shore, and found no good place for landing; neither did they see house or inhabitant, although they passed by a fine valley, called the _Valley of Maguella_, except that towards the end of their expedition, they saw a horseman, who they supposed had been stationed as a sentinel, for he rode off immediately on their appearance. They landed with difficulty, and followed the track of the horse on the sand, but lost it in the woods. [Sidenote: 28th. Volcano of Colima. Valley of Colima.] On the 28th, they saw the Volcano of _Colima_, which is in about 18° 36' N latitude, five or six leagues from the sea, and appears with two sharp points, from each of which issued flames or smoke. The _Valley of Colima_ is ten or twelve leagues wide by the sea: it abounds in cacao-gardens, fields of corn, and plantain walks. The coast is a sandy shore, on which the waves beat with violence. Eastward of the Valley the land is woody. A river ran here into the sea, with a shoal or bar at its entrance, which boats could not pass. On the West side of the river was savannah land. [Sidenote: December. Salagua.] December the 1st, they were near the Port of _Salagua_, which Dampier reckoned in latitude 18° 52' N. He says, 'it is only a pretty deep bay, divided in the middle with a rocky point, which makes, as it were, two harbours[69]. Ships may ride secure in either, but the West harbour is the best: the depth of water is 10 or 12 fathom, and a brook of fresh water runs into the sea there.' [Sidenote: Report of a great City named Oarrah.] Two hundred Buccaneers landed at _Salagua_, and finding a broad road which led inland, they followed it about four leagues, over a dry stony country, much overgrown with short wood, without seeing habitation or inhabitant; but in their return, they met and took prisoners two Mulattoes, who informed them that the road they had been travelling led to a great city called _Oarrah_, which was distant as far as a horse will travel in four days; and that there was no place of consequence nearer. The same prisoner said the _Manila_ ship was daily expected to stop at this part of the coast to land passengers; for that the arrival of the ships at _Acapulco_ from the _Philippines_ commonly happened about Christmas, and scarcely ever more than eight or ten days before or after. Swan and Townley sailed on for Cape _Corrientes_. Many among the crews were at this time taken ill with a fever and ague, which left the patients dropsical. Dampier says, the dropsy is a disease very common on this coast. He was one of the sufferers, and continued ill a long time; and several died of it. [Sidenote: The Land near Cape Corrientes. Coronada Hills. Cape Corrientes.] The coast Southward of _Cape Corrientes_, is of moderate height, and full of white cliffs. The inland country is high and barren, with sharp peaked hills. Northward of this rugged land, is a chain of mountains which terminates Eastward with a high steep mountain, which has three sharp peaks and resembles a crown; and is therefore called by the Spaniards _Coronada_. On the 11th they came in sight of _Cape Corrientes_. When the _Cape_ bore NbW, the _Coronada_ mountain bore ENE[70]. On arriving off _Cape Corrientes_, the buccaneer vessels spread, for the advantage of enlarging their lookout, the Cygnet taking the outer station at about ten leagues distance from the _Cape_. Provisions however soon became scarce, on which account Townley's tender and some of the canoes were sent to the land to seek a supply. The canoes rowed up along shore against a Northerly wind to the _Bay de Vanderas_; but the bark could not get round _Cape Corrientes_. [Sidenote: 18th.] On the 18th, Townley complained he wanted fresh water, whereupon the ships quitted their station near the Cape, and sailed to some small Islands called the _Keys of Chametly_, which are situated to the SE of _Cape Corrientes_, to take in fresh water. The descriptions of the coast of _New Spain_ given by Dampier, in his account of his voyage with the Buccaneers, contain many particulars of importance which are not to be found in any other publication. Dampier's manuscript and the printed Narrative frequently differ, and it is sometimes apparent that the difference is not the effect of inadvertence, or mistake in the press, but that it was intended as a correction from a reconsideration of the subject. [Sidenote: Keys or Islands of Chametly.] The printed Narrative says at this part, 'These _Keys_ or _Islands_ of _Chametly_ are about 16 or 18 leagues to the Eastward of _Cape Corrientes_. They are small, low, woody, and environed with rocks. There are five of them lying in the form of a half moon, not a mile from the shore of the main, and between them and the main land is very good riding secure from any wind[71].' In the manuscript it is said, 'the Islands _Chametly_ make a secure port. They lie eight or nine leagues from _Port Navidad_.' It is necessary to explain that Dampier, in describing his navigation along the coast of _New Spain_, uses the terms Eastward and Westward, not according to the precise meaning of the words, but to signify being more or less advanced along the coast from the _Bay of Panama_. By Westward, he invariably means more advanced towards the _Gulf of California_; by Eastward, the contrary. [Sidenote: Form a convenient Port.] The ships entered within the _Chametly Islands_ by the channel at the SE end, and anchored in five fathoms depth, on a bottom of clean sand. They found there good fresh water and wood, and caught plenty of rock-fish with hook and line. No inhabitants were seen, but there were huts, made for the temporary convenience of fishermen who occasionally went there to fish for the inhabitants of the city of _La Purificacion_. These Islands, forming a commodious port affording fresh water and other conveniencies, from the smallness of their size are not made visible in the Spanish charts of the coast of _New Spain_ in present use[72]. Whilst the ships watered at the _Keys_ or _Isles of Chametly_, a party was sent to forage on the main land, whence they carried off about 40 bushels of maize. On the 22d, they left the _Keys of Chametly_, and returned to their cruising station off _Cape Corrientes_, where they were rejoined by the canoes which had been to the _Bay de Vanderas_. Thirty-seven men had landed there from the canoes, who went three miles into the country, where they encountered a body of Spaniards, consisting both of horse and foot. The Buccaneers took benefit of a small wood for shelter against the attack of the horse, yet the Spaniards rode in among them; but the Spanish Captain and some of their foremost men being killed, the rest retreated. Four of the Buccaneers were killed, and two desperately wounded. The Spanish infantry were more numerous than the horse, but they did not join in the attack, because they were armed only with lances and swords; 'nevertheless,' says Dampier, 'if they had come in, they would certainly have destroyed all our men.' The Buccaneers conveyed their two wounded men to the water side on horses, one of which, when they arrived at their canoes, they killed and drest; not daring to venture into the savannah for a bullock, though they saw many grazing. [Sidenote: 1686. January. Bay de Vanderas.] Swan and Townley preserved their station off _Cape Corrientes_ only till the 1st of January, 1686, when their crews became impatient for fresh meat, and they stood into the _Bay de Vanderas_, to hunt for beef. The depth of water in this Bay is very great, and the ships were obliged to anchor in 60 fathoms. [Sidenote: Valley of Vanderas.] 'The _Valley of Vanderas_ is about three leagues wide, with a sandy bay against the sea, and smooth landing. In the midst of this bay (or beach) is a fine river, into which boats may enter; but it is brackish at the latter part of the dry season, which is in March, and part of April. The Valley is enriched with fruitful savannahs, mixed with groves of trees fit for any use; and fruit-trees grow wild in such plenty as if nature designed this place only for a garden. The savannahs are full of fat bulls and cows, and horses; but no house was in sight.' Here they remained hunting beeves, till the 7th of the month. Two hundred and forty men landed every day, sixty of whom were stationed as a guard, whilst the rest pursued the cattle; the Spaniards all the time appearing in large companies on the nearest hills. The Buccaneers killed and salted meat sufficient to serve them two months, which expended all their salt. Whilst they were thus occupied in the pleasant valley of _Vanderas_, the galeon from _Manila_ sailed past _Cape Corrientes_, and pursued her course in safety to _Acapulco_. This they learnt afterwards from prisoners; but it was by no means unexpected: on the contrary, they were in general so fully persuaded it would be the consequence of their going into the _Bay de Vanderas_, that they gave up all intention of cruising for her afterwards. [Sidenote: Swan and Townley part company.] The main object for which Townley had gone thus far Northward being disposed of, he and his crew resolved to return Southward. Some Darien Indians had remained to this time with Swan: they were now committed to the care of Townley, and the two ships broke off consortship, and parted company. CHAP. XIX. _The =Cygnet= and her Crew on the Coast of =Nueva Galicia=, and at the =Tres Marias Islands=._ [Sidenote: 1686. January. Coast of Nuevo Galicia.] Swan and his crew determined before they quitted the American coast, to visit some Spanish towns farther North, in the neighbourhood of rich mines, where they hoped to find good plunder, and to increase their stock of provisions for the passage across the _Pacific_ to _India_. [Sidenote: Point Ponteque.] January the 7th, the Cygnet and her tender sailed from the _Valley of Vanderas_, and before night, passed _Point Ponteque_, the Northern point of the _Vanderas Bay_. _Point Ponteque_ is high, round, rocky, and barren: at a distance it makes like an Island. Dampier reckoned it 10 leagues distant, in a direction N 20° W, from _Cape Corrientes_; the variation of the compass observed near the _Cape_ being 4° 28' Easterly[73]. A league West from _Point Ponteque_ are two small barren Islands, round which lie scattered several high, sharp, white rocks. The Cygnet passed on the East side of the two Islands, the channel between them and _Point Ponteque_ appearing clear of danger. 'The sea-coast beyond _Point Ponteque_ runs in NE, all ragged land, and afterwards out again NNW, making many ragged points, with small sandy bays between. The land by the sea is low and woody; but the inland country is full of high, sharp, rugged, and barren hills.' Along this coast they had light sea and land breezes, and fair weather. They anchored every evening, and got under sail in the morning with the land-wind. [Sidenote: January 14th. White Rock, 21° 51' N.] On the 14th, they had sight of a small white rock, which had resemblance to a ship under sail. Dampier gives its latitude 21° 51' N, and its distance from _Cape Corrientes_ 34 leagues. It is three leagues from the main, with depth in the channel, near the Island, twelve or fourteen fathoms. [Sidenote: 15th. 16th.] The 15th, at noon, the latitude was 22° 11' N. The coast here lay in a NNW direction. The 16th, they steered 'NNW as the land runs.' At noon the latitude was 22° 41' N. The coast was sandy and shelving, with soundings at six fathoms depth a league distant. The sea set heavy on the shore. They caught here many cat-fish. [Sidenote: 20th. Chametlan Isles, 23° 11' N.] On the 20th, they anchored a league to the East of a small groupe of Isles, named the _Chametlan Isles_, after the name of the District or Captainship (_Alcaldia mayor_) in the province of _Culiacan_, opposite to which they are situated. Dampier calls them the _Isles of Chametly_, 'different from the _Isles_ or _Keys of Chametly_ at which we had before anchored. These are six small Islands in latitude 23° 11' N, about three leagues distant from the main-land[74], where a salt lake has its outlet into the sea. Their meridian distance from _Cape Corrientes_ is 23 leagues [West.] The coast here, and for about ten leagues before coming abreast these Islands, lies NW and SE.' [Sidenote: The Penguin Fruit.] On the _Chametlan Isles_ they found guanoes, and seals; and a fruit of a sharp pleasant taste, by Dampier called the Penguin fruit, 'of a kind which grows so abundantly in the _Bay of Campeachy_ that there is no passing for their high prickly leaves.' [Sidenote: Rio de Sal, and Salt-water Lagune, 23° 30' N.] In the main-land, six or seven leagues NNW from the _Isles of Chametlan_, is a narrow opening into a _lagune_, with depth of water sufficient for boats to enter. This _lagune_ extends along the back of the sea-beach about 12 leagues, and makes many low Mangrove Islands. The latitude given of the entrance above-mentioned is 23° 30' N, and it is called by the Spaniards _Rio de Sal_. Half a degree Northward of _Rio de Sal_ was said to be the River _Culiacan_, with a rich Spanish town of the same name. Swan went with the canoes in search of it, and followed the coast 30 leagues from abreast the _Chametlan Isles_, without finding any river to the North of the _Rio de Sal_. All the coast was low and sandy, and the sea beat high on the shore. [Sidenote: 30th.] The ships did not go farther within the _Gulf_ than to 23° 45' N, in which latitude, on the 30th, they anchored in eight fathoms depth, three miles distant from the main-land; the meridian distance from _Cape Corrientes_ being 34 leagues West, by Dampier's reckoning. [Sidenote: The Mexican, a copious Language.] In their return Southward, Swan with the canoes, entered the _Rio de Sal Lagune_, and at an _estancian_ on the Western side, they took the owner prisoner. They found in his house a few bushels of maize; but the cattle had been driven out of their reach. Dampier relates, 'The old Spanish gentleman who was taken at the _Estancian_ near the _Rio de Sal_ was a very intelligent person. He had been a great traveller in the kingdom of _Mexico_, and spoke the Mexican language very well. He said it is a copious language, and much esteemed by the Spanish gentry in those parts, and of great use all over the kingdom; and that many Indian languages had some dependency on it.' [Sidenote: Mazatlan.] The town of _Mazatlan_ was within 5 leagues of the NE part of the _lagune_, and Swan with 150 men went thither. The inhabitants wounded some of the Buccaneers with arrows, but could make no effectual resistance. There were rich mines near _Mazatlan_, and the Spaniards of _Compostella_, which is the chief town in this district, kept slaves at work in them. The Buccaneers however found no gold here, but carried off some Indian corn. [Sidenote: February 2d. Rosario, an Indian Town.] February the 2d, the canoes went to an Indian town called _Rosario_, situated on the banks of a river and nine miles within its entrance. '_Rosario_ was a fine little town of 60 or 70 houses, with a good church.' The river produced gold, and mines were in the neighbourhood; but here, as at _Mazatlan_, they got no other booty than Indian corn, of which they conveyed to their ships between 80 and 90 bushels. [Sidenote: 3d. River Rosario, 22° 51' N. Sugar-loaf Hill. Caput Cavalli.] On the 3d, the ships anchored near the _River Rosario_ in seven fathoms oozy ground, a league from the shore; the latitude of the entrance of the river 22° 51' N. A small distance within the coast and bearing NEbN from the ship, was a round hill like a sugar-loaf; and North Westward of that hill, was another 'pretty long hill,' called _Caput Cavalli_, or the _Horse's Head_. [Sidenote: 8th.] On the 8th, the canoes were sent to search for a river named the _Oleta_, which was understood to lie in latitude 22° 27' N; but the weather proving foggy they could not find it. [Sidenote: 11th. Maxentelbo Rock. Hill of Xalisco.] On the 11th, they anchored abreast the South point of the entrance of a river called the _River de Santiago_, in seven fathoms soft oozy bottom, about two miles from the shore; a high white rock, called _Maxentelbo_, bore from their anchorage WNW, distant about three leagues, and a high hill in the country, with a saddle or bending, called the _Hill Xalisco_, bore SE. [Sidenote: River of Santiago, 22° 15' N.] 'The _River St. Iago_ is in latitude 22° 15' N, the entrance lies East and West with the _Rock Maxentelbo_. It is one of the principal rivers on this coast: there is ten feet water on the bar at low-water; but how much the tide rises and falls, was not observed. The mouth of the river is nearly half a mile broad, with very smooth entering. Within the entrance it widens, for three or four rivers meet there, and issue all out together. The water is brackish a great way up; but fresh water is to be had by digging two or three feet deep in a sandy bay just at the mouth of the river. Northward of the entrance, and NEbE from _Maxentelbo_, is a round white rock.' 'Between the latitudes 22° 41' and 22° 10' N, which includes the _River de Santiago_, the coast lies NNW and SSE[75].' No inhabitants were seen near the entrance of the _River St. Iago_, but the country had a fruitful appearance, and Swan sent seventy men in four canoes up the river, to seek for some town or village. After two days spent in examining different creeks and rivers, they came to a field of maize which was nearly ripe, and immediately began to gather; but whilst they were loading the canoes, they saw an Indian, whom they caught, and from him they learnt that at four leagues distance from them was a town named _S^{ta} Pecaque_. With this information they returned to the ship; and the same evening, Swan with eight canoes and 140 men, set off for _S^{ta} Pecaque_, taking the Indian for a guide. This was on the 15th of the month. [Sidenote: 16th.] They rowed during the night about five leagues up the river, and at six o'clock in the morning, landed at a place where it was about a pistol-shot wide, with pretty high banks on each side, the country plain and even. Twenty men were left with the canoes, and Swan with the rest marched towards the town, by a road which led partly through woodland, and partly through savannas well stocked with cattle. They arrived at the town by ten in the forenoon, and entered without opposition, the inhabitants having quitted it on their approach. [Sidenote: Town of S^{ta} Pecaque.] The town of _Santa Pecaque_ was small, regularly built after the Spanish mode, with a Parade in the middle, and balconies to the houses which fronted the parade. It had two churches. The inhabitants were mostly Spaniards, and their principal occupation was husbandry. It is distant from _Compostella_ about 21 leagues. _Compostella_ itself was at that time reckoned not to contain more than seventy white families, which made about one-eighth part of its inhabitants. There were large storehouses, with maize, salt-fish, salt, and sugar, at _Santa Pecaque_, provisions being kept there for the subsistence of some hundreds of slaves who worked in silver mines not far distant. The chief purpose for which the Cygnet had come so far North on this coast was to get provisions, and here was more than sufficient to supply her wants. For transporting it to their canoes, Swan divided the men into two parties, which it was agreed should go alternately, one party constantly to remain to guard the stores in the town. The afternoon of the first day was passed in taking rest and refreshment, and in collecting horses. [Sidenote: 17th.] The next morning, fifty-seven men, with a number of horses laden with maize, each man also carrying a small quantity, set out for the canoes, to which they arrived, and safely deposited their burthens. The Spaniards had given some disturbance to the men who guarded the canoes, and had wounded one, on which account they were reinforced with seven men from the carrying party; and in the afternoon, the fifty returned to _Santa Pecaque_. Only one trip was made in the course of the day. [Sidenote: 18th.] On the morning of the 18th, the party which had guarded the town the day before, took their turn for carrying. They loaded 24 horses, and every man had his burthen. This day they took a prisoner, who told them, that nearly a thousand men, of all colours, Spaniards, Indians, Negroes, and Mulattoes, were assembled at the town of _Santiago_, which was only three leagues distant from _Santa Pecaque_. This information made Captain Swan of opinion, that separating his men was attended with much danger; and he determined that the next morning he would quit the town with the whole party. In the mean time he employed his men to catch as many horses as they could, that when they departed they might carry off a good load. [Sidenote: February 19th.] On the 19th, Swan called his men out early, and gave order to prepare for marching; but the greater number refused to alter the mode they had first adopted, and said they would not abandon the town until all the provision in it was conveyed to the canoes. Swan was forced to acquiesce, and to allow one-half of the company to go as before. They had fifty-four horses laden; Swan advised them to tie the horses one to another, and the men to keep in two bodies, twenty-five before, and the same number behind. His directions however were not followed: 'the men would go their own way, every man leading his horse.' The Spaniards had before observed their careless manner of marching, and had prepared their plan of attack for this morning, making choice of the ground they thought most for their advantage, and placing men there in ambush. The Buccaneer convoy had not been gone above a quarter of an hour when those who kept guard in the town, heard the report of guns. Captain Swan called on them to march out to the assistance of their companions; but some even then opposed him, and spoke with contempt of the danger and their enemies, till two horses, saddled, with holsters, and without riders, came galloping into the town frightened, and one had at its side a carabine newly discharged. [Sidenote: Buccaneers defeated and slain by the Spaniards.] On this additional sign that some event had taken place which it imported them to know, Swan immediately marched out of the town, and all his men followed him. When they came to the place where the engagement had happened, they beheld their companions that had gone forth from the town that morning, every man lying dead in the road, stripped, and so mangled that scarcely any one could be known. This was the most severe defeat the Buccaneers suffered in all their _South Sea_ enterprises. The party living very little exceeded the number of those who lay dead before them, yet the Spaniards made no endeavour to interrupt their retreat, either in their march to the canoes, or in their falling down the river, but kept at a distance. 'It is probable,' says Dampier, 'the Spaniards did not cut off so many of our men without loss of many of their own. We lost this day fifty-four Englishmen and nine blacks; and among the slain was my ingenious friend Mr. Ringrose, who wrote that part of the _History of the Buccaneers_ which relates to Captain Sharp. He had engaged in this voyage as supercargo of Captain Swan's ship.'--'Captain Swan had been forewarned by his astrologer of the great danger they were in; and several of the men who went in the first party had opposed the division of their force: some of them foreboded their misfortune, and heard as they lay down in the church in the night, grievous groanings which kept them from sleeping[76].' Swan and his surviving crew were discouraged from attempting any thing more on the coast of _New Galicia_, although they had laid up but a small stock of provisions. On the 21st, they sailed from the _River of St. Jago_ for the South Cape of _California_, where it was their intention to careen the ship; but the wind had settled in the NW quarter, and after struggling against it a fortnight, on the 7th of March, they anchored in a bay at the East end of the middle of the _Tres Marias Islands_, in eight fathoms clean sand. [Sidenote: March. At the Middle Island of the Tres Marias.] The next day, they took a birth within a quarter of a mile of the shore; the outer points of the bay bearing ENE and SSW. None of the _Tres Marias Islands_ were inhabited. Swan named the one at which he had anchored, _Prince George's Island_. Dampier describes them of moderate height, and the Westernmost Island to be the largest of the three. 'The soil is stony and dry, producing much of a shrubby kind of wood, troublesome to pass; but in some parts grow plenty of straight large cedars. [Sidenote: A Root used as Food.] The sea-shore is sandy, and there, a green prickly plant grows, whose leaves are much like the penguin leaf; the root is like the root of the _Sempervive_, but larger, and when baked in an oven is reckoned good to eat. The Indians of _California_ are said to have great part of their subsistence from these roots. We baked some, but none of us greatly cared for them. They taste exactly like the roots of our English Burdock boiled.' At this Island were guanoes, raccoons, rabbits, pigeons, doves, fish, turtle, and seal. They careened here, and made a division of the store of provisions, two-thirds to the Cygnet and one-third to the Tender, 'there being one hundred eaters in the ship, and fifty on board the tender.' The maize they had saved measured 120 bushels. [Sidenote: A Dropsy cured by a Sand Bath.] Dampier relates the following anecdote of himself at this place. 'I had been a long time sick of a dropsy, a distemper whereof many of our men died; so here I was laid and covered all but my head in the hot sand. I endured it near half an hour, and then was taken out. I sweated exceedingly while I was in the sand, and I believe it did me much good, for I grew well soon after.' This was the dry season, and they could not find here a sufficient supply of fresh water, which made it necessary for them to return to the Continent. Before sailing, Swan landed a number of prisoners, Spaniards and Indians, which would have been necessary on many accounts besides that of the scantiness of provisions, if it had been his design to have proceeded forthwith Westward for the _East Indies_; but as he was going again to the American coast, which was close at hand, the turning his prisoners ashore on a desolate Island, appears to have been in revenge for the disastrous defeat sustained at _S^{ta} Pecaque_, and for the Spaniards having given no quarter on that occasion. [Sidenote: Bay of Vanderas.] They sailed on the 26th, and two days after, anchored in the _Bay of Vanderas_ near the river at the bottom of the bay; but the water of this river was now brackish. Search was made along the South shore of the bay, and two or three leagues towards _Cape Corrientes_, a small brook of good fresh water was found; and good anchorage near to a small round Island which lies half a mile from the main, and about four leagues NEastward of the Cape. Just within this Island they brought the ships to anchor, in 25 fathoms depth, the brook bearing from them E-1/2N half a mile distant, and _Point Ponteque_ NWbN six leagues. The Mosquito men struck here nine or ten jew-fish, the heads and finny pieces of which served for present consumption, and the rest was salted for sea-store. The maize and salted fish composed the whole of their stock of eatables for their passage across the _Pacific_, and at a very straitened allowance would scarcely be sufficient to hold out sixty days. CHAP. XX. _The =Cygnet=. Her Passage across the =Pacific Ocean=. At the =Ladrones=. At =Mindanao=._ [Sidenote: 1686. March. The Cygnet quits the American Coast.] March the 31st, they sailed from the American coast, steering at first SW, and afterwards more Westerly till they were in latitude 13° N, in which parallel they kept. 'The kettle was boiled but once a day,' says Dampier, 'and there was no occasion to call the men to victuals. All hands came up to see the Quarter-master share it, and he had need to be exact. We had two dogs and two cats on board, and they likewise had a small allowance given them, and they waited with as much eagerness to see it shared as we did.' [Sidenote: Large flight of Birds. Lat. 13° N. Long. 180°.] In this passage they saw neither fish nor fowl of any kind, except at one time, when by Dampier's reckoning they were 4975 miles West from _Cape Corrientes_, and then, numbers of the sea-birds called boobies were flying near the ships, which were supposed to come from some rocks not far distant. Their longitude at this time may be estimated at about 180 degrees from the meridian of Greenwich[77]. [Sidenote: May 21st.] Fortunately, they had a fresh trade-wind, and made great runs every day. 'On May the 20th, which,' says Dampier, 'we begin to call the 21st, we were in latitude 12° 50' N, and steering West. [Sidenote: Shoals and Breakers SbW-1/2W 10 or 11 leagues from the S end of Guahan. Bank de Santa Rosa.] At two p. m. the bark tender being two leagues ahead of the Cygnet, came into shoal water, and those on board plainly saw rocks under her, but no land was in sight. They hauled on a wind to the Southward, and hove the lead, and found but four fathoms water. They saw breakers to the Westward. They then wore round, and got their starboard tacks on board and stood Northward. The Cygnet in getting up to the bark, ran over a shoal bank, where the bottom was seen, and fish among the rocks; but the ship ran past it before we could heave the lead. Both vessels stood to the Northward, keeping upon a wind, and sailed directly North, having the wind at ENE, till five in the afternoon, having at that time run eight miles and increased our latitude so many minutes. We then saw the Island _Guam_ [_Guahan_] bearing NNE, distant from us about eight leagues, which gives the latitude of the Island (its South end) 13° 20' N. We did not observe the variation of the compass at _Guam_. At _Cape Corrientes_ we found it 4° 28' Easterly, and an observation we made when we had gone about a third of the passage, shewed it to be the same. I am inclined to think it was less at _Guam_[78].' The shoal above mentioned is called by the Spaniards the _Banco de Santa Rosa_, and the part over which the Cygnet passed, according to the extract from Dampier, is about SbW-1/2W from the South end of _Guahan_, distant ten or eleven leagues. [Sidenote: At Guahan.] An hour before midnight, they anchored on the West side of _Guahan_, a mile from the shore. The Spaniards had here a small Fort, and a garrison of thirty soldiers; but the Spanish Governor resided at another part of the Island. As the ships anchored, a Spanish priest in a canoe went on board, believing them to be Spaniards from _Acapulco_. He was treated with civility, but detained as a kind of hostage, to facilitate any negociation necessary for obtaining provisions; and Swan sent a present to the Spanish Governor by the Indians of the canoe. No difficulty was experienced on this head. Both Spaniards, and the few natives seen here, were glad to dispose of their provisions to so good a market as the buccaneer ships. Dampier conjectured the number of the natives at this time on _Guahan_ not to exceed a hundred. In the last insurrection, which was a short time before Eaton stopped at the _Ladrones_, the natives, finding they could not prevail against the Spaniards, destroyed their plantations, and went to other Islands. 'Those of the natives who remained in _Guahan_,' says Dampier, 'if they were not actually concerned in that broil, their hearts were bent against the Spaniards; for they offered to carry us to the Fort and assist us to conquer the Island.' Whilst Swan lay at _Guahan_, the Spanish Acapulco ship came in sight of the Island. The Governor immediately sent off notice to her of the Buccaneer ships being in the road, on which she altered her course towards the South, and by so doing got among the shoals, where she struck off her rudder, and did not get clear for three days. The natives at _Guahan_ told the Buccaneers that the Acapulco ship was in sight of the Island, 'which,' says Dampier, 'put our men in a great heat to go out after her, but Captain Swan persuaded them out of that humour.' [Sidenote: Flying Proe, or Sailing Canoe.] Dampier praises the ingenuity of the natives of the _Ladrone Islands_, and particularly in the construction of their sailing canoes, or, as they are sometimes called, their flying proes, of which he has given the following description. 'Their Proe or Sailing Canoe is sharp at both ends; the bottom is of one piece of good substance neatly hollowed, and is about 28 feet long; the under, or keel part is made round, but inclining to a wedge; the upper part is almost flat, having a very gentle hollow, and is about a foot broad: from hence, both sides of the boat are carried up to about five feet high with narrow plank, and each end of the boat turns up round very prettily. But what is very singular, one side of the boat is made perpendicular like a wall, while the other side is rounding as other vessels are, with a pretty full belly. The dried husks of the cocoa-nuts serve for oakum. At the middle of the vessel the breadth aloft is four or five feet, or more, according to the length of the boat. The mast stands exactly in the middle, with a long yard that peeps up and down like a ship's mizen yard; one end of it reaches down to the head of the boat, where it is placed in a notch made purposely to keep it fast: the other end hangs over the stern. To this yard the sail is fastened, and at the foot of the sail is another small yard to keep the sail out square, or to roll the sail upon when it blows hard; for it serves instead of a reef to take up the sail to what degree they please. Along the belly side of the boat, parallel with it, at about seven feet distance, lies another boat or canoe very small, being a log of very light wood, almost as long as the great boat, but not above a foot and a half wide at the upper part, and sharp like a wedge at each end. The little boat is fixed firm to the other by two bamboos placed across the great boat, one near each end, and its use is to keep the great boat upright from oversetting. They keep the flat side of the great boat against the wind, and the belly side, consequently, with its little boat, is upon the lee[79]. The vessel has a head at each end so as to be able to sail with either foremost: they need not tack as our vessels do, but when they ply to windward and are minded to make a board the other way, they only alter the setting of the sail by shifting the end of the yard, and they take the broad paddle with which they steer instead of a rudder, to the other end of the vessel. I have been particular in describing these their sailing canoes, because I believe they sail the best of any boats in the world. I tried the swiftness of one of them with our log: we had twelve knots on our reel, and she ran it all out before the half-minute glass was half out. I believe she would run 24 miles in an hour. It was very pleasant to see the little boat running so swift by the other's side. I was told that one of these proes being sent express from _Guahan_ to _Manila_, [a distance above 480 leagues] performed the voyage in four days.' [Sidenote: Bread Fruit.] Dampier has described the Bread-fruit, which is among the productions of the _Ladrone Islands_. He had never seen nor heard of it any where but at these Islands. Provisions were obtained in such plenty at _Guahan_, that in the two vessels they salted above fifty hogs for sea use. The friar was released, with presents in return for his good offices, and to compensate for his confinement. [Sidenote: June.] June the 2d, they sailed from _Guahan_ for the Island _Mindanao_. The weather was uncertain: 'the Westerly winds were not as yet in strength, and the Easterly winds commonly over-mastered them and brought the ships on their way to _Mindanao_.' [Sidenote: Eastern side of Mindanao, and the Island St. John.] There is much difference between the manuscript Journal of Dampier and the published Narrative, concerning the geography of the East side of _Mindanao_. The Manuscript says, 'We arrived off _Mindanao_ the 21st day of June; but being come in with the land, knew not what part of the Island the city was in, therefore we run down to the Northward, between _Mindanao_ and _St. John_, and came to an anchor in a bay which lieth in six degrees North latitude.' In the printed Narrative it is said, 'The 21st day of June, we arrived at the _Island St. John_, which is on the East side of _Mindanao_, and distant from it 3 or 4 leagues. It is in latitude about 7° or 8° North. This Island is in length about 38 leagues, stretching NNW and SSE, and is in breadth about 24 leagues in the middle of the Island. The Northernmost end is broader, and the Southern narrower. This Island is of good height, and is full of small hills. The land at the SE end (where I was ashore) is of a black fat mould; and the whole Island seems to partake of the same, by the vast number of large trees that it produceth, for it looks all over like one great grove. As we were passing by the SE end, we saw a canoe of the natives under the shore, and one of our boats went after to have spoken with her, but she ran to the shore, and the people leaving her, fled to the woods. We saw no more people here, nor sign of inhabitant at this end. When we came aboard our ship again, we steered away for the Island _Mindanao_, which was fair in sight of us, it being about 10 leagues distant from this part of _St. John's_. The 22d day, we came within a league of the East side of _Mindanao_, and having the wind at SE, we steered towards the North end, keeping on the East side till we came into the latitude of 7° 40' N, and there we anchored in a small bay, a mile from the shore, in 10 fathoms, rocky foul ground; _Mindanao_ being guarded on the East side by _St. John's Island_, we might as reasonably have expected to find the harbour and city on this side as any where else; but coming into the latitude in which we judged the city might be, we found no canoes or people that indicated a city or place of trade being near at hand, though we coasted within a league of the shore[80].' This difference between the manuscript and printed Journal cannot well be accounted for. The most remarkable particular of disagreement is in the latitude of the bay wherein they anchored. At this bay they had communication with the inhabitants, and learnt that the _Mindanao City_ was to the Westward. They could not prevail on any Mindanao man to pilot them; the next day, however, they weighed anchor, and sailed back Southward, till they came to a part they supposed to be the SE end of _Mindanao_, and saw two small Islands about three leagues distant from it. [Sidenote: Sarangan and Candigar.] There is reason to believe that the two small Islands here noticed were _Sarangan_ and _Candigar_; according to which, Dampier's _Island St. John_ will be the land named _Cape San Augustin_ in the present charts. And hence arises a doubt whether the land of _Cape San Augustin_ is not an Island separate from _Mindanao_. Dampier's navigation between them does not appear to have been far enough to the Northward to ascertain whether he was in a Strait or a Gulf. [Sidenote: July. Harbour or Sound on the South Coast of Mindanao.] The wind blew constant and fresh from the Westward, and it took them till the 4th of July to get into a harbour or sound a few leagues to the NW from the two small Islands. This harbour or sound ran deep into the land; at the entrance it is only two miles across, but within it is three leagues wide, with seven fathoms depth, and there is good depth for shipping four or five leagues up, but with some rocky foul ground. On the East side of this Bay are small rivers and brooks of fresh water. The country on the West side was uncultivated land, woody, and well stocked with wild deer, which had been used to live there unmolested, no people inhabiting on that side of the bay. Near the shore was a border of savanna or meadow land which abounded in long grass. Dampier says, 'the adjacent woods are a covert for the deer in the heat of the day; but mornings and evenings they feed in the open plains, as thick as in our parks in England. I never saw any where such plenty of wild deer. We found no hindrance to our killing as many as we pleased, and the crews of both the ships were fed with venison all the time we remained here.' They quitted this commodious Port on the 12th; the weather had become moderate, and they proceeded Westward for the River and City of _Mindanao_. The Southern part of the Island appeared better peopled than the Eastern part; they passed many fishing boats, 'and now and then a small village.' [Sidenote: River of Mindanao.] On the 18th, they anchored before the _River of Mindanao_, in 15 fathoms depth, the bottom hard sand, about two miles distant from the shore, and three or four miles from a small Island which was without them to the Southward. The river is small, and had not more than ten or eleven feet depth over the bar at spring tides. Dampier gives the latitude of the entrance 6° 22' N. [Sidenote: City of Mindanao.] The buccaneer ships on anchoring saluted with seven guns, under English colours, and the salute was returned with three guns from the shore. 'The City of _Mindanao_ is about two miles from the sea. It is a mile long, of no great breadth, winding with the banks of the river, on the right hand going up, yet it has many houses on the opposite side of the river.' The houses were built upon posts, and at this time, as also during a great part of the succeeding month, the weather was rainy, and 'the city seemed to stand as in a pond, so that there was no passing from one house to another but in canoes.' The Island _Mindanao_ was divided into a number of small states. The port at which the Cygnet and her tender now anchored, with a large district of country adjacent, was under the dominion of a Sultan or Prince, who appears to have been one of the most powerful in the Island. The Spaniards had not established their dominion over all the _Philippine Islands_, and the inhabitants of this place were more apprehensive of the Hollanders than of any other Europeans; and on that account expressed some discontent when they understood the Cygnet was not come for the purpose of making a settlement. On the afternoon of their arrival, Swan sent an officer with a present to the Sultan, consisting of scarlet cloth, gold lace, a scymitar, and a pair of pistols; and likewise a present to another great man who was called the General, of scarlet cloth and three yards of silver lace. The next day, Captain Swan went on shore and was admitted to an audience in form. The Sultan shewed him two letters from English merchants, expressing their wishes to establish a factory at _Mindanao_, to do which he said the English should be welcome. A few days after this audience, the Cygnet and tender went into the river, the former being lightened first to get her over the bar. Here, similar to the custom in the ports of _China_, an officer belonging to the Sultan went on board and measured the ships. Voyagers or travellers who visit strange countries, generally find, or think, it necessary to be wary and circumspect: mercantile voyagers are on the watch for occasions of profit, and the inquisitiveness of men of observation will be regarded with suspicion; all which, however familiarity of manners may be assumed, keeps cordiality at a distance, and causes them to continue strangers. The present visitors were differently circumstanced and of different character: their pursuits at _Mindanao_ were neither to profit by trade nor to make observation. Long confined with pockets full of money which they were impatient to exchange for enjoyment, with minds little troubled by considerations of economy, they at once entered into familiar intercourse with the natives, who were gained almost as much by the freedom of their manners as by their presents, and with whom they immediately became intimates and inmates. The same happened to Drake and his companions, when, returning enriched with spoil from the _South Sea_, they stopped at the Island _Java_; and we read no instance of Europeans arriving at such sociable and friendly intercourse with any of the natives of _India_, as they became with the people of _Java_ during the short time they remained there, except in the similarly circumstanced, instance of the crew of the Cygnet among the Mindanayans. By the length of their stay at _Mindanao_, Dampier was enabled to enter largely into descriptions of the natives, and of the country, and he has related many entertaining particulars concerning them. Those only in which the Buccaneers were interested will be noticed here. The Buccaneers were at first prodigal in their gifts. When any of them went on shore, they were welcomed and invited to the houses, and were courted to form particular attachments. Among many nations of the East a custom has been found to prevail, according to which, a stranger is expected to choose some individual native to be his friend or comrade; and a connexion so formed, and confirmed with presents, is regarded, if not as sacred, with such high respect, that it is held most dishonourable to break it. The visitor is at all times afterwards welcome to his comrade's house. The _tayoship_, with the ceremony of exchanging names, among the South Sea islanders, is a bond of fellowship of the same nature. The people of _Mindanao_ enlarged and refined upon this custom, and allowed to the stranger a _pagally_, or platonic friend of the other sex. The wives of the richest men may be chosen, and she is permitted to converse with her pagally in public. 'In a short time,' says Dampier, 'several of our men, such as had good clothes and store of gold, had a comrade or two, and as many pagallies.' Some of the crew hired, and some purchased, houses, in which they lived with their comrades and pagallies, and with a train of servants, as long as their means held out. 'Many of our Squires,' continues Dampier, 'were in no long time eased of the trouble of counting their money. This created a division of the crew into two parties, that is to say, of those who had money, and those who had none. As the latter party increased, they became dissatisfied and unruly for want of action, and continually urged the Captain to go to sea; which not being speedily complied with, they sold the ship's stores and the merchants' goods to procure arrack.' Those whose money held out, were not without their troubles. The Mindanayans were a people deadly in their resentments. Whilst the Cygnet lay at _Mindanao_, sixteen Buccaneers were buried, most of whom, Dampier says, died by poison. 'The people of _Mindanao_ are expert at poisoning, and will do it upon small occasions. Nor did our men want for giving offence either by rogueries, or by familiarities with their women, even before their husbands' faces. They have poisons which are slow and lingering; for some who were poisoned at _Mindanao_, did not die till many months after.' Towards the end of the year they began to make preparation for sailing. It was then discovered that the bottom of the tender was eaten through by worms in such a manner that she would scarcely swim longer in port, and could not possibly be made fit for sea. The Cygnet was protected by a sheathing which covered her bottom, the worms not being able to penetrate farther than to the hair which was between the sheathing and the main plank. [Sidenote: January, 1687.] In the beginning of January (1687), the Cygnet was removed to without the bar of the river. Whilst she lay there, and when Captain Swan was on shore, his Journal was accidentally left out, and thereby liable to the inspection of the crew, some of whom had the curiosity to look in it, and found there the misconduct of several individuals on board, noted down in a manner that seemed to threaten an after-reckoning. This discovery increased the discontents against Swan to such a degree, that when he heard of it he did not dare to trust himself on board, and the discontented party took advantage of his absence and got the ship under sail. Captain Swan sent on board Mr. Harthope, one of the Supercargoes, to see if he could effect a reconciliation. The principal mutineers shewed to Mr. Harthope the Captain's Journal, 'and repeated to him all his ill actions, and they desired that he would take the command of the ship; but he refused, and desired them to tarry a little longer whilst he went on shore and communed with the Captain, and he did not question but all differences would be reconciled. They said they would wait till two o'clock; but at four o'clock, Mr. Harthope not having returned, and no boat being seen coming from the shore, they made sail and put to sea with the ship, leaving their Commander and 36 of the crew at _Mindanao_.' Dampier was among those who went in the ship; but he disclaims having had any share in the mutiny. CHAP. XXI. _The =Cygnet= departs from =Mindanao=. At the =Ponghou Isles=. At the =Five Islands=. =Dampier's= Account of the =Five Islands=. They are named the =Bashee Islands=._ [Sidenote: 1687. January. South Coast of Mindanao.] It was on the 14th of January the Cygnet sailed from before the _River Mindanao_. The crew chose one John Reed, a Jamaica man, for their Captain. They steered Westward along the coast of the South side of the Island, 'which here tends WbS, the land of a good height, with high hills in the country.' The 15th, they were abreast a town named _Chambongo_ [in the charts _Samboangan_] which Dampier reckoned to be 30 leagues distant from the _River of Mindanao_. The Spaniards had formerly a fort there, and it is said to be a good harbour. 'At the distance of two or three leagues from the coast, are many small low Islands or Keys; and two or three leagues to the Southward of these Keys is a long Island stretching NE and SW about twelve leagues[81].' [Sidenote: Among the Philippine Islands.] When they were past the SW part of _Mindanao_, they sailed Northward towards _Manila_, plundering the country vessels that came in their way. What was seen here of the coasts is noticed slightly and with uncertainty. They met two Mindanao vessels laden with silks and calicoes; and near _Manila_ they took some Spanish vessels, one of which had a cargo of rice. [Sidenote: March. Pulo Condore.] From the _Philippine Islands_ they went to the Island _Pulo Condore_, where two of the men who had been poisoned at _Mindanao_, died. 'They were opened by the surgeon, in compliance with their dying request, and their livers were found black, light, and dry, like pieces of cork.' [Sidenote: In the China Seas.] From _Pulo Condore_ they went cruising to the _Gulf of Siam_, and to different parts of the _China Seas_. What their success was, Dampier did not think proper to tell, for it would not admit of being palliated under the term Buccaneering. Among their better projects and contrivances, one, which could only have been undertaken by men confident in their own seamanship and dexterity, was to search at the _Prata Island and Shoal_, for treasure which had been wrecked there, the recovery of which no one had ever before ventured to attempt. In pursuit of this scheme, they unluckily fell too far to leeward, and were unable to beat up against the wind. [Sidenote: July. Ponghou Isles. The Five Islands.] In July they went to the _Ponghou Islands_, expecting to find there a port which would be a safe retreat. On the 20th of that month, they anchored at one of the Islands, where they found a large town, and a Tartar garrison. This was not a place where they could rest with ease and security. Having the wind at SW, they again got under sail, and directed their course to look for some Islands which in the charts were laid down between _Formosa_ and _Luconia_, without any name, but marked with the figure 5 to denote their number. These Buccaneers, or rather pirates, had no other information concerning the _Five Islands_ than seeing them on the charts, and hoped to find them without inhabitants. Dampier's account of the _Five Islands_ would lose in many respects if given in any other than his own words, which therefore are here transcribed. [Sidenote: Dampier's Description of the Five Islands.] 'August the 6th, We made the _Islands_; the wind was at South, and we fetched in with the Westernmost, which is the largest, on which we saw goats, but could not get anchor-ground, therefore we stood over to others about three leagues from this, and the next forenoon anchored in a small Bay on the East side of the Easternmost Island in fifteen fathoms, a cable's length from the shore; and before our sails were furled we had a hundred small boats aboard, with three, four, and some with six men in them. [Sidenote: August 7th.] There were three large towns on the shore within the distance of a league. Most of our people being aloft (for we had been forced to turn in close with all sail abroad, and when we anchored, furled all at once) and our deck being soon full of Indian natives, we were at first alarmed, and began to get our small-arms ready; but they were very quiet, only they picked up such old iron as they found upon our deck. At last, one of our men perceived one of them taking an iron pin out of a gun-carriage, and laid hold of him, upon which he bawled out, and the rest leaped into their boats or overboard, and they all made away for the shore. But when we perceived their fright, we made much of him we had in hold, and gave him a small piece of iron, with which we let him go, and he immediately leaped overboard and swam to his consorts, who hovered near the ship to see the issue. Some of the boats came presently aboard again, and they were always afterward very honest and civil. We presently after this, sent our canoe on shore, and they made the crew welcome with a drink they call Bashee, and they sold us some hogs. We bought a fat goat for an old iron hoop, a hog of 70 or 80 _lbs._ weight for two or three pounds of iron, and their bashee drink and roots for old nails or bullets. Their hogs were very sweet, but many were meazled. We filled fresh water here at a curious brook close by the ship. 'We lay here till the 12th, when we weighed to seek for a better anchoring place. We plied to windward, and passed between the South end of this Island and the North end of another Island South of this. These Islands were both full of inhabitants, but there was no good riding. We stopped a tide under the Southern Island. The tide runs there very strong, the flood to the North, and it rises and falls eight feet. It was the 15th day of the month before we found a place we might anchor at and careen, which was at another Island not so big as either of the former. [Illustration: Map of the BASHEE Islands.] 'We anchored near the North East part of this smaller Island, against a small sandy bay, in seven fathoms clean hard sand, a quarter of a mile from the shore. We presently set up a tent on shore, and every day some of us went to the towns of the natives, and were kindly entertained by them. Their boats also came on board to traffic with us every day; so that besides provision for present use, we bought and salted 70 or 80 good fat hogs, and laid up a good stock of potatoes and yams. [Sidenote: Names given to the Islands. Orange Island.] 'These Islands lie in 20° 20' N.[82] As they are laid down in the charts marked only with a figure of 5, we gave them what names we pleased. The Dutchmen who were among us named the Westernmost, which is the largest, the _Prince of Orange's Island_. It is seven or eight leagues long, about two leagues wide, and lies almost North and South. _Orange Island_ was not inhabited. It is high land, flat and even at the top, with steep cliffs against the sea; for which reason we could not go ashore there, as we did on all the rest. [Sidenote: Grafton Island.] 'The Island where we first anchored, we called the _Duke of Grafton's Isle_, having married my wife out of his Dutchess's family, and leaving her at Arlington House at my going abroad. _Grafton Isle_ is about four leagues long, stretching North and South, and one and a half wide. [Sidenote: Monmouth Island.] 'The other great Island our seamen called the _Duke of Monmouth's Island_. It is about three leagues long, and a league wide. [Sidenote: Goat Island. Bashee Island. The Drink called Bashee.] 'The two smaller Islands, which lie between _Monmouth_, and the South end of _Orange Island_; the Westernmost, which is the smallest, we called _Goat Island_, from the number of goats we saw there. The Easternmost, at which we careened, our men unanimously called _Bashee Island_, because of the plentiful quantity of that liquor which we drank there every day. This drink called Bashee, the natives make with the juice of the sugar-cane, to which they put some small black berries. It is well boiled, and then put into great jars, in which it stands three or four days to ferment. Then it settles clear, and is presently fit to drink. This is an excellent liquor, strong, and I believe wholesome, and much like our English beer both in colour and taste. Our men drank briskly of it during several weeks, and were frequently drunk with it, and never sick in consequence. [Sidenote: The whole group named the Bashee Islands.] The natives sold it to us very cheap, and from the plentiful use of it, our men called all these Islands the _Bashee Islands_. [Sidenote: Rocks or small Islands North of the Five Islands.] 'To the Northward of the Five Islands are two high rocks.' [These rocks are not inserted in Dampier's manuscript Chart, and only one of them in the published Chart; whence is to be inferred, that the other was beyond the limit of the Chart.] [Sidenote: Natives described.] 'These Islanders are short, squat, people, generally round visaged with thick eyebrows; their eyes of a hazel colour, small, yet bigger than those of the Chinese; they have short low noses, their teeth white; their hair black, thick, and lank, which they wear short: their skins are of a dark copper colour. They wear neither hat, cap, nor turban to keep off the sun. The men had a cloth about their waist, and the women wore short cotton petticoats which reached below the knee. These people had iron; but whence it came we knew not. The boats they build are much after the fashion of our Deal yawls, but smaller, and every man has a boat, which he builds himself. They have also large boats, which will carry 40 or 50 men each. 'They are neat and cleanly in their persons, and are withal the quietest and civilest people I ever met with. I could never perceive them to be angry one with another. I have admired to see 20 or 30 boats aboard our ship at a time, all quiet and endeavouring to help each other on occasion; and if cross accidents happened, they caused no noise nor appearance of distaste. When any of us came to their houses, they would entertain us with such things as their houses or plantations would afford; and if they had no bashee at home, would buy of their neighbours, and sit down and drink freely with us; yet neither then nor sober could I ever perceive them to be out of humour. 'I never observed them to worship any thing; they had no idols; neither did I perceive that one man was of greater power than another: they seemed to be all equal, only every man ruling in his own house, and children respecting and honouring their parents. Yet it is probable they have some law or custom by which they are governed; for whilst we lay here, we saw a young man buried alive in the earth, and it was for theft, as far as we could understand from them. There was a great deep hole dug, and abundance of people came to the place to take their last farewell of him. One woman particularly made great lamentations, and took off the condemned person's ear-rings. We supposed her to be his mother. After he had taken leave of her, and some others, he was put into the pit, and covered over with earth. He did not struggle, but yielded very quietly to his punishment, and they crammed the earth close upon him, and stifled him. [Sidenote: Situations of their Towns.] _Monmouth_ and _Grafton Isles_ are very hilly with steep precipices; and whether from fear of pirates, of foreign enemies, or factions among their own clans, their towns and villages are built on the most steep and inaccessible of these precipices, and on the sides of rocky hills; so that in some of their towns, three or four rows of houses stand one above another, in places so steep that they go up to the first row with a ladder, and in the same manner ascend to every street upwards. _Grafton_ and _Monmouth Islands_ are very thick set with these hills and towns. [Sidenote: Bashee Islands.] The two small Islands are flat and even, except that on _Bashee Island_ there is one steep craggy hill. The reason why _Orange Island_ has no inhabitants, though the largest and as fertile as any of these Islands, I take to be, because it is level and exposed to attack; and for the same reason, _Goat Island_, being low and even, hath no inhabitants. We saw no houses built on any open plain ground. Their houses are but small and low, the roofs about eight feet high. The vallies are well watered with brooks of fresh water. The fruits of these Islands are plantains, bananas, pine-apples, pumpkins, yams and other roots, and sugar-canes, which last they use mostly for their bashee drink. Here are plenty of goats, and hogs; and but a few fowls. They had no grain of any kind. [Sidenote: September. 26th.] 'On the 26th of September, our ship was driven to sea, by a strong gale at NbW, which made her drag her anchors. Six of the crew were on shore, who could not get on board. The weather continued stormy till the 29th. [Sidenote: October.] The 1st of October, we recovered the anchorage from which we had been driven, and immediately the natives brought on board our six seamen, who related that after the ship was out of sight, the natives were more kind to them than they had been before, and tried to persuade them to cut their hair short, as was the custom among themselves, offering to each of them if they would, a young woman to wife, a piece of land, and utensils fit for a planter. These offers were declined, but the natives were not the less kind; on which account we made them a present of three whole bars of iron.' Two days after this reciprocation of kindness, the Buccaneers bid farewell to these friendly Islanders. CHAP. XXII. _The =Cygnet=. At the =Philippines=, =Celebes=, and =Timor=. On the Coast of =New Holland=. End of the =Cygnet=._ [Sidenote: 1687. October.] From the _Bashee Islands_, the Cygnet steered at first SSW, with the wind at West, and on that course passed 'close to the Eastward of certain small Islands that lie just by the North end of the Island _Luconia_.' [Sidenote: Island near the SE end of Mindanao. Candigar.] They went on Southward by the East of the _Philippine Islands_. On the 14th, they were near a small low woody Island, which Dampier reckoned to lie East 20 leagues from the SE end of _Mindanao_. The 16th, they anchored between the small Islands _Candigar_ and _Sarangan_; but afterwards found at the NW end of the Eastern of the two Islands, a good and convenient small cove, into which they went, and careened the ship. They heard here that Captain Swan and those of the crew left with him, were still at the _City of Mindanao_. [Sidenote: December. 27th. Near the SW end of Timor.] The Cygnet and her restless crew continued wandering about the Eastern Seas, among the _Philippine Islands_, to _Celebes_, and to _Timor_. December the 27th, steering a Southerly course, they passed by the West side of _Rotte_, and by another small Island, near the SW end of _Timor_. Dampier says, 'Being now clear of all the Islands, and having the wind at West and WbN, we steered away SSW,[83] intending to touch at _New Holland_, to see what that country would afford us.' The wind blew fresh, and kept them under low sail; sometimes with only their courses set, and sometimes with reefed topsails. [Sidenote: 31st.] The 31st at noon, their latitude was 13° 20' S. About ten o'clock at night, they tacked and stood to the Northward for fear of a shoal, which their charts laid down in the track they were sailing, and in latitude 13° 50' S. [Sidenote: 1688. January. Low Island and Shoal, SbW from the West end of Timor.] At three in the morning, they tacked again and stood SbW and SSW. As soon as it was light, they perceived a low Island and shoal right ahead. This shoal, by their reckoning, is in latitude 13° 50', and lies SbW from the West end of _Timor_.[84] 'It is a small spit of sand appearing just above the water's edge, with several rocks about it eight or ten feet high above water. It lies in a triangular form, each side in extent about a league and a half. We could not weather it, so bore away round the East end, and stood again to the Southward, passing close by it and sounding, but found no ground. [Sidenote: NW Coast of New Holland.] This shoal is laid down in our drafts not above 16 or 20 leagues from _New Holland_; but we ran afterwards 60 leagues making a course due South, before we fell in with the coast of _New Holland_, which we did on January the 4th, in latitude 16° 50' S.' Dampier remarks here, that unless they were set Westward by a current, the coast of _New Holland_ must have been laid down too far Westward in the charts; but he thought it not probable that they were deceived by currents, because the tides on that part of the coast were found very regular; the flood setting towards the NE. [Sidenote: In a Bay on the NW Coast of New Holland.] The coast here was low and level, with sand-banks. The Cygnet sailed along the shore NEbE 12 leagues, when she came to a point of land, with an Island so near it that she could not pass between. A league before coming to this point, that is to say, Westward of the point, was a shoal which ran out from the main-land a league. Beyond the point, the coast ran East, and East Southerly, making a deep bay with many Islands in it. On the 5th, they anchored in this bay, about two miles from the shore, in 29 fathoms. The 6th, they ran nearer in and anchored about four miles Eastward of the point before mentioned, and a mile distant from the nearest shore, in 18 fathoms depth, the bottom clean sand. People were seen on the land, and a boat was sent to endeavour to make acquaintance with them; but the natives did not wait. Their habitations were sought for, but none were found. The soil here was dry and sandy, yet fresh water was found by digging for it. They warped the ship into a small sandy cove, at a spring tide, as far as she would float, and at low water she was high aground, the sand being dry without her half a mile; for the sea rose and fell here about five fathoms perpendicularly. During the neap tides, the ship lay wholly aground, the sea not approaching nearer than within a hundred yards of her. Turtle and manatee were struck here, as much every day as served the whole crew. Boats went from the ship to different parts of the bay in search of provisions. [Sidenote: Natives.] For a considerable time they met with no inhabitants; but at length, a party going to one of the Islands, saw there about forty natives, men, women, and children. 'The Island was too small for them to conceal themselves. The men at first made threatening motions with lances and wooden swords, but a musket was fired to scare them, and they stood still. The women snatched up their infants and ran away howling, their other children running after squeaking and bawling. Some invalids who could not get away lay by the fire making a doleful noise; but after a short time they grew sensible that no mischief was intended them, and they became quiet.' Those who had fled, soon returned, and some presents made, succeeded in rendering them familiar. Dampier relates, 'we filled some of our barrels with water at wells, which had been dug by the natives, but it being troublesome to get to our boats, we thought to have made these men help us, to which end we put on them some old ragged clothes, thinking this finery would make them willing to be employed. We then brought our new servants to the wells, and put a barrel on the shoulders of each; but all the signs we could make were to no purpose, for they stood like statues, staring at one another and grinning like so many monkies. These poor creatures seem not accustomed to carry burthens, and I believe one of our ship-boys of ten years old would carry as much as one of their men. So we were forced to carry our water ourselves, and they very fairly put off the clothes again and laid them down. They had no great liking to them at first, neither did they seem to admire any thing that we had.' 'The inhabitants of this country are the most miserable people in the world. The Hottentots compared with them are gentlemen. They have no houses, animals, or poultry. Their persons are tall, straight-bodied, thin, with long limbs: they have great heads, round foreheads, and great brows. Their eyelids are always half closed to keep the flies out of their eyes, for they are so troublesome here that no fanning will keep them from one's face, so that from their infancy they never open their eyes as other people do, and therefore they cannot see far, unless they hold up their heads as if they were looking at something over them. They have great bottle noses, full lips, wide mouths: the two fore-teeth of their upper jaw are wanting in all of them: neither have they any beards. Their hair is black, short, and curled, and their skins coal black like that of the negroes in _Guinea_. Their only food is fish, and they constantly search for them at low water, and they make little weirs or dams with stones across little coves of the sea. At one time, our boat being among the Islands seeking for game, espied a drove of these people swimming from one Island to another; for they have neither boats, canoes, nor bark-logs. We always gave them victuals when we met any of them. But after the first time of our being among them, they did not stir for our coming.' It deserves to be remarked to the credit of human nature, that these poor people, in description the most wretched of mankind in all respects, that we read of, stood their ground for the defence of their women and children, against the shock and first surprise at hearing the report of fire-arms. [Sidenote: March.] The Cygnet remained at this part of _New Holland_ till the 12th of March, and then sailed Westward, for the West coast of _Sumatra_. [Sidenote: 28th. An Island in Lat. 10° 20' S.] On the 28th, they fell in with a small woody uninhabited Island, in latitude 10° 20' S, and, by Dampier's reckoning, 12° 6' of longitude from the part of _New Holland_ at which they had been. There was too great depth of water every where round the Island for anchorage. A landing-place was found near the SW point, and on the Island a small brook of fresh water; but the surf would not admit of any to be taken off to the ship. Large craw-fish, boobies, and men-of-war birds, were caught, as many as served for a meal for the whole crew. [Sidenote: April. End of the Cygnet.] April the 7th, they made the coast of _Sumatra_. Shortly after, at the _Nicobar Islands_, Dampier and some others quitted the Cygnet. Read, the Captain, and those who yet remained with him, continued their piratical cruising in the Indian Seas, till, after a variety of adventures, and changes of commanders, they put into _Saint Augustine's_ Bay in the Island of _Madagascar_, by which time the ship was in so crazy a condition, that the crew abandoned her, and she sunk at her anchors. Some of the men embarked on board European ships, and some engaged themselves in the service of the petty princes of that Island. Dampier returned to _England_ in 1691. CHAP. XXIII. _French Buccaneers under =François Grogniet= and =Le Picard=, to the Death of =Grogniet=._ [Sidenote: The French Buccaneers, from July 1685.] Having accompanied the Cygnet to her end, the History must again be taken back to the breaking up of the general confederacy of Buccaneers which took place at the Island _Quibo_, to give a connected narrative of the proceedings of the French adventurers from that period to their quitting the _South Sea_. [Sidenote: Under Grogniet.] Three hundred and forty-one French Buccaneers (or to give them their due, privateers, war then existing between _France_ and _Spain_) separated from Edward Davis in July 1685, choosing for their leader Captain François Grogniet. They had a small ship, two small barks, and some large canoes, which were insufficient to prevent their being incommoded for want of room, and the ship was so ill provided with sails as to be disqualified for cruising at sea. They were likewise scantily furnished with provisions, and necessity for a long time confined their enterprises to the places on the coast of _New Spain_ in the neighbourhood of _Quibo_. The towns of _Pueblo Nuevo_, _Ria Lexa_, _Nicoya_, and others, were plundered by them, some more than once, by which they obtained provisions, and little of other plunder, except prisoners, from whom they extorted ransom either in provisions or money. [Sidenote: November.] In November, they attacked the town of _Ria Lexa_. Whilst in the port, a Spanish Officer delivered to them a letter from the Vicar-General of the province of _Costa Rica_, written to inform them that a truce for twenty years had been concluded between _France_ and _Spain_. The Vicar-General therefore required of them to forbear committing farther hostility, and offered to give them safe conduct over land to the _North Sea_, and a passage to _Europe_ in the galeons of his Catholic Majesty to as many as should desire it. This offer not according with the inclinations of the adventurers, they declined accepting it, and, without entering into enquiry, professed to disbelieve the intelligence. [Sidenote: Point de Burica.] November the 14th, they were near the _Point Burica_. Lussan says, 'we admired the pleasant appearance of the land, and among other things, a walk or avenue, formed by five rows of cocoa-nut trees, which extended in continuation along the coast 15 leagues, with as much regularity as if they had been planted by line.' [Sidenote: 1686. January. Chiriquita.] In the beginning of January 1686, two hundred and thirty of these Buccaneers went in canoes from _Quibo_ against _Chiriquita_, a small Spanish town on the Continent, between _Point Burica_ and the Island _Quibo_. _Chiriquita_ is situated up a navigable river, and at some distance from the sea-coast. 'Before this river are eight or ten Islands, and shoals on which the sea breaks at low water; but there are channels between them through which ships may pass[85].' The Buccaneers arrived in the night at the entrance of the river, unperceived by the Spaniards; but being without guides, and in the dark, they mistook and landed on the wrong side of the river. They were two days occupied in discovering the right way, but were so well concealed by the woods, that at daylight on the morning of the third day they came upon the town and surprised the whole of the inhabitants, who, says Lussan, had been occupied the last two days in disputing which of them should keep watch, and go the rounds. Lussan relates here, that himself and five others were decoyed to pursue a few Spaniards to a distance from the town, where they were suddenly attacked by one hundred and twenty men. He and his companions however, he says, played their parts an hour and a half '_en vrai Flibustiers_,' and laid thirty of the enemy on the ground, by which time they were relieved by the arrival of some of their friends. They set fire to the town, and got ransom for their prisoners: in what the ransom consisted, Lussan has not said. [Sidenote: At Quibo.] Their continuance in one station, at length prevailed on the Spaniards to collect and send a force against them. They had taken some pains to instil into the Spaniards a belief that they intended to erect fortifications and establish themselves at _Quibo_. Their view in this it is not easy to conjecture, unless it was to discourage their prisoners from pleading poverty; for they obliged those from whom they could not get money, to labour, and to procure bricks and materials for building to be sent for their ransom. On the 27th of January, a small fleet of Spanish vessels approached the Island _Quibo_. The buccaneer ship was without cannon, and lay near the entrance of a river which had only depth sufficient for their small vessels. The Buccaneers therefore took out of the ship all that could be of use, and ran her aground; and with their small barks and canoes took a station in the river. [Sidenote: February.] The Spaniards set fire to the abandoned ship, and remained by her to collect the iron-work; but they shewed no disposition to attack the French in the river; and on the 1st of February, they departed from the Island. The Buccaneers having lost their ship, set hard to work to build themselves small vessels. In this month of February, fourteen of their number died by sickness and accidents. [Sidenote: March.] They had projected an attack upon _Granada_ but want of present subsistence obliged them to seek supply nearer, and a detachment was sent with that view to the river of _Pueblo Nuevo_. Some vessels of the Spanish flotilla which had lately been at _Quibo_, were lying at anchor in the river, which the Flibustiers mistook for a party of the English Buccaneers. [Sidenote: Unsuccessful attempt at Pueblo Nuevo.] In this belief they went within pistol-shot, and hailed, and were then undeceived by receiving for answer a volley of musketry. They fired on the Spaniards in return, but were obliged to retreat, and in this affair they lost four men killed outright, and between 30 and 40 were wounded. Preparatory to their intended expedition against _Granada_, they agreed upon some regulations for preserving discipline and order, the principal articles of which were, that cowardice, theft, drunkenness, or disobedience, should be punished with forfeiture of all share of booty taken. On the evening of the 22d, they were near the entrance of the _Gulf of Nicoya_, in a little fleet, consisting of two small barks, a row-galley, and nine large canoes. A tornado came on in the night which dispersed them a good deal. At daylight they were surprised at counting thirteen sail in company, and before they discovered which was the strange vessel, five more sail came in sight. [Sidenote: Grogniet is joined by Townley.] They soon joined each other, and the strangers proved to be a party of the Buccaneers of whom Townley was the head. Townley had parted company from Swan not quite two months before. His company consisted of 115 men, embarked in a ship and five large canoes. Townley had advanced with his canoes along the coast before his ship to seek provisions, he and his men being no better off in that respect than Grogniet and his followers. On their meeting as above related, the French did not forget Townley's former overbearing conduct towards them: they, however, limited their vengeance to a short triumph. Lussan says, 'we now finding ourselves the strongest, called to mind the ill offices he had done us, and to shew him our resentment, we made him and his men in the canoes with him our prisoners. We then boarded his ship, of which we made ourselves masters, and pretended that we would keep her. We let them remain some time under this apprehension, after which we made them see that we were more honest and civilized people than they were, and that we would not profit of our advantage over them to revenge ourselves; for after keeping possession about four or five hours, we returned to them their ship and all that had been taken from them.' The English shewed their sense of this moderation by offering to join in the attack on _Granada_, which offer was immediately accepted. [Sidenote: April. Expedition against the City of Granada.] The city of _Granada_ is situated in a valley bordering on the _Lake of Nicaragua_, and is about 16 leagues distant from _Leon_. The Buccaneers were provided with guides, and to avoid giving the Spaniards suspicion of their design, Townley's ship and the two barks were left at anchor near _Cape Blanco_, whilst the force destined to be employed against _Granada_ proceeded in the canoes to the place at which it was proposed to land, directions being left with the ship and barks to follow in due time. [Sidenote: 7th.] The 7th of April, 345 Buccaneers landed from the canoes, about twenty leagues NW-ward of _Cape Blanco_, and began their march, conducted by the guides, who led them through woods and unfrequented ways. They travelled night and day till the 9th, in hopes to reach the city before they were discovered by the inhabitants, or their having landed should be known by the Spaniards. The province of _Nicaragua_, in which _Granada_ stands, is reckoned one of the most fertile in _New Spain_. The distance from where the Buccaneers landed, to the city, may be estimated about 60 miles. Yet they expected to come upon it by surprise; and in fact they did travel the greater part of the way without being seen by any inhabitant. Such a mark of the state of the population, corresponds with all the accounts given of the wretched tyranny exercised by the Spaniards over the nations they have conquered. The Buccaneers however were discovered in their second day's march, by people who were fishing in a river, some of whom immediately posted off with the intelligence. The Spaniards had some time before been advertised by a deserter that the Buccaneers designed to attack _Granada_; but they were known to entertain designs upon so many places, and to be so fluctuating in their plans, that the Spaniards could only judge from certain intelligence where most to guard against their attempts. [Sidenote: 9th.] On the night of the 9th, fatigue and hunger obliged the Buccaneers to halt at a sugar plantation four leagues distant from the city. One man, unable to keep up with the rest, had been taken prisoner. [Sidenote: 10th.] The morning of the 10th, they marched on, and from an eminence over which they passed, had a view of the _Lake of Nicaragua_, on which were seen two vessels sailing from the city. These vessels the Buccaneers afterwards learnt, were freighted with the richest moveables that at short notice the inhabitants had been able to embark, to be conveyed for security to an Island in the Lake which was two leagues distant from the city. _Granada_ was large and spacious, with magnificent churches and well-built houses. The ground is destitute of water, and the town is supplied from the Lake; nevertheless there were many large sugar plantations in the neighbourhood, some of which were like small towns, and had handsome churches. _Granada_ was not regularly fortified, but had a place of arms surrounded with a wall, in the nature of a citadel, and furnished with cannon. The great church was within this inclosed part of the town. [Sidenote: The City of Nueva Granada taken;] The Buccaneers arrived about two o'clock in the afternoon, and immediately assaulted the place of arms, which they carried with the loss of four men killed, and eight wounded, most of them mortally. The first act of the victors, according to Lussan, was to sing _Te Deum_ in the great church; and the next, to plunder. Provisions, military stores, and a quantity of merchandise, were found in the town, the latter of which was of little or no value to the captors. [Sidenote: 11th.] The next day they sent to enquire if the Spaniards would ransom the town, and the merchandise. It had been rumoured that the Buccaneers would be unwilling to destroy _Granada_, because they proposed at some future period to make it their baiting place, in returning to the _North Sea_, and the Spaniards scarcely condescended to make answer to the demand for ransom. [Sidenote: And Burnt.] The Buccaneers in revenge set fire to the houses. 'If we could have found boats,' says Lussan, 'to have gone on the lake, and could have taken the two vessels laden with the riches of _Granada_, we should have thought this a favourable opportunity for returning to the _West Indies_.' [Sidenote: 15th.] On the 15th, they left _Granada_, to return to the coast, which journey they performed in the most leisurely manner. They took with them a large cannon, with oxen to draw it, and some smaller guns which they laid upon mules. The weather was hot and dry, and the road so clouded with dust, as almost to stifle both men and beasts. Sufficient provision of water had not been made for the journey, and the oxen all died. The cannon was of course left on the road. Towards the latter part of the journey, water and refreshments were procured at some villages and houses, the inhabitants of which furnished supplies as a condition that their dwellings should be spared. On the 26th, they arrived at the sea and embarked in their vessels, taking on board with them a Spanish priest whom the Spaniards would not redeem by delivering up their buccaneer prisoner. Most of the men wounded in the Granada expedition died of cramps. [Sidenote: 28th, At Ria Lexa. May.] The 28th, they came upon _Ria Lexa_ unexpectedly, and made one hundred of the inhabitants prisoners. By such means, little could be gained more than present subsistence, and that was rendered very precarious by the Spaniards removing their cattle from the coast. It was therefore determined to put an end to their unprofitable continuance in one place; but they could not agree where next to go. All the English, and one half of the French, were for sailing to the _Bay of Panama_. The other half of the French, 148 in number, with Grogniet at their head, declared for trying their fortunes North-westward. Division was made of the vessels and provisions. The whole money which the French had acquired by their depredations amounted to little more than 7000 dollars, and this sum they generously distributed among those of their countrymen who had been lamed or disabled. [Sidenote: Grogniet and Townley part Company. Buccaneers under Townley.] May the 19th, they parted company. Those bound for the _Bay of Panama_, of whom Townley appears to have been regarded the head, had a ship, a bark, and some large canoes. Townley proposed an attack on the town of _Lavelia_ or _La Villia_, at which place the treasure from the Lima ships had been landed in the preceding year, and this proposal was approved. [Sidenote: June.] Tornadoes and heavy rains kept them among the _Keys of Quibo_ till the middle of June. On the 20th of that month, they arrived off the _Punta Mala_, and during the day, they lay at a distance from the land with sails furled. At night the principal part of their force made for the land in the canoes; but they had been deceived in the distance. Finding that they could not reach the river which leads to _Lavelia_ before day, they took down the sails and masts, and went to three leagues distance from the land, where they lay all the day of the 21st. Lussan, who was of this party of Buccaneers, says that they were obliged to practise the same manoeuvre on the day following. In the middle of the night of the 22d, 160 Buccaneers landed from the canoes at the entrance of the river. [Sidenote: 23d. Lavelia taken.] They were some hours in marching to _Lavelia_, yet the town was surprised, and above 300 of the inhabitants made prisoners. This was in admirable conformity with the rest of the management of the Spaniards. The fleet from _Lima_, laden with treasure intended for _Panama_, had, more than a year before, landed the treasure and rich merchandise at _Lavelia_, as a temporary measure of security against the Buccaneers, suited to the occasion. The Government at _Panama_, and the other proprietors, would not be at the trouble of getting it removed to _Panama_, except in such portions as might be required by some present convenience; and allowed a great part to remain in _Lavelia_, a place of no defence, although during the whole time Buccaneers had been on the coast of _Veragua_, or _Nicaragua_, to whom it now became an easy prey, through indolence and a total want of vigilance, as well in the proprietors as in those whom they employed to guard it. Three Spanish barks were riding in the river, one of which the crews sunk, and so dismantled the others that no use could be made of them; but the Buccaneers found two boats in serviceable condition at a landing-place a quarter of a league below the town. The riches they now saw in their possession equalled their most sanguine expectations, and if secured, they thought would compensate for all former disappointments. The merchandise in _Lavelia_ was estimated in value at a million and a half of piastres. The gold and silver found there amounted only to 15,000 piastres. The first day of being masters of _Lavelia_, was occupied by the Buccaneers in making assortments of the most valuable articles of the merchandise. The next morning, they loaded 80 horses with bales, and a guard of 80 men went with them to the landing-place where the two boats above mentioned were lying. In the way, one man of this escort was taken by the Spaniards. The two prize boats were by no means large enough to carry all the goods which the Buccaneers proposed to take from _Lavelia_; and on that account directions had been dispatched to the people in the canoes at the entrance of the river to advance up towards the town. These directions they attempted to execute; but the land bordering the river was woody, which exposed the canoes to the fire of a concealed enemy, and after losing one man, they desisted from advancing. For the same cause, it was thought proper not to send off the two loaded boats without a strong guard, and they did not move during this day. The Buccaneers sent a letter to the Spanish Alcalde, to demand if he would ransom the town, the merchandise, and the prisoners; but the Alcalde refused to treat with them. [Sidenote: The Town set on fire.] In the afternoon therefore, they set fire to the town, and marched to the landing-place where the two boats lay, and there rested for the night. [Sidenote: River of Lavelia.] The river of _Lavelia_ is broad, but shallow. Vessels of forty tons can go a league and a half within the entrance. The landing-place is yet a league and a half farther up, and the town is a quarter of a mile from the landing-place[86]. [Sidenote: 25th.] On the morning of the 25th, the two boats, laden as deep as was safe, began to fall down the river, having on board nine men to conduct them. The main body of the Buccaneers at the same time marched along the bank on one side of the river for their protection. A body of Spaniards skreened by the woods, and unseen by the Buccaneers, kept pace with them on the other side of the river, at a small distance within the bank. The Buccaneers had marched about a league, and the boats had descended as far, when they came to a point of land on which the trees and underwood grew so thick as not to be penetrated without some labour and expence of time, to which they did not choose to submit, but preferred making a circuit which took them about a quarter of a mile from the river. The Spaniards on the opposite side were on the watch, and not slow in taking advantage of their absence. They came to the bank, whence they fired upon the men in the laden boats, four of whom they killed, and wounded one; the other four abandoned the boats and escaped into the thicket. The Spaniards took possession of the boats, and finding there the wounded Buccaneer, they cut off his head and fixed it on a stake which they set up by the side of the river at a place by which the rest of the Buccaneers would necessarily have to pass. The main body of the Buccaneers regained the side of the river in ignorance of what had happened; and not seeing the boats, were for a time in doubt whether they were gone forward, or were still behind. The first notice they received of their loss was from the men who had escaped from the boats, who made their way through the thicket and joined them. Thus did this crew of Buccaneers, within a short space of time, win by circumspection and adroitness, and lose by negligence, the richest booty they had ever made. If quitting the bank of the river had been a matter of necessity, and unavoidable, there was nothing but idleness to prevent their conveying their plunder the remainder of the distance to their boats by land. In making their way through the woods, they found the rudder, sails, and other furniture of the Spanish barks in the river; the barks themselves were near at hand, and the Buccaneers embarked in them; but the flood tide making, they came to an anchor, and lay still for the night. [Sidenote: June 26th.] The next morning, as they descended the river, they saw the boats which they had so richly freighted, now cleared of their lading and broken to pieces; and near to their wreck, was the head which the Spaniards had stuck up. This spectacle, added to the mortifying loss of their booty, threw the Buccaneers into a frenzy, and they forthwith cut off the heads of four prisoners, and set them on poles in the same place. In the passage down the river, four more of the Buccaneers were killed by the firing of the Spaniards from the banks. [Sidenote: 27th.] The day after their retreat from the river of _Lavelia_, a Spaniard went off to them to treat for the release of the prisoners, and they came to an agreement that 10,000 pieces of eight should be paid for their ransom. Some among them who had wives were permitted to go on shore that they might assist in procuring the money; but on the 29th, the same messenger again went off and acquainted them that the _Alcalde Major_ would not only not suffer the relations of the prisoners to send money for their ransom, but that he had arrested some of those whom the Buccaneers had allowed to land. On receiving this report, these savages without hesitation cut off the heads of two of their prisoners, and delivered them to the messenger, to be carried to the _Alcalde_, with their assurance that if the ransom did not speedily arrive, the rest of the prisoners would be treated in the same manner. The next day the ransom was settled for the remaining prisoners, and for one of the captured barks; the Spaniards paying partly with money, partly with provisions and necessaries, and with the release of the Buccaneer they had taken. In the agreement for the bark, the Spaniards required a note specifying that if the Buccaneers again met her, they should make prize only of the cargo, and not of the vessel. After the destruction of _Lavelia_, it might be supposed that the perpetrators of so much mischief would not be allowed with impunity to remain in the _Bay of Panama_; but such was the weakness or negligence of the Spaniards, that this small body of freebooters continued several months in this same neighbourhood, and at times under the very walls of the City. On another point, however, the Spaniards were more active, and with success; for they concluded a treaty of peace and alliance with the Indians of the _Isthmus_, in consequence of which, the passage overland through the Darien country was no longer open to the Buccaneers; and some small parties of them who attempted to travel across, were intercepted and cut off by the Spaniards, with the assistance of the natives. [Sidenote: July.] The Spaniards had at _Panama_ a military corps distinguished by the appellation of Greeks, which was composed of Europeans of different nations, not natives of _Spain_. Among the atrocities committed by the crew under Townley, they put to death one of these Greeks, who was also Commander of a Spanish vessel, because on examining him for intelligence, they thought he endeavoured to deceive them; and in aggravation of the deed, Lussan relates the circumstance in the usual manner of his pleasantries, 'we paid him for his treachery by sending him to the other world.' [Sidenote: August.] On the 20th of August, as they were at anchor within sight of the city of _Panama_, they observed boats passing and repassing between some vessels and the shore, and a kind of bustle which had the appearance of an equipment. [Sidenote: Battle with Spanish armed Ships.] The next day, the Buccaneers anchored near the Island _Taboga_; and there, on the morning of the 22d, they were attacked by three armed vessels from _Panama_. The Spaniards were provided with cannon, and the battle lasted half the day, when, owing to an explosion of gunpowder in one of the Spanish vessels, the victory was decided in favour of the Buccaneers. Two of the three Spanish vessels were taken, as was also one other, which during the fight arrived from _Panama_ as a reinforcement. In the last mentioned prize, cords were found prepared for binding their prisoners in the event of their being victorious; and this, the Buccaneers deemed provocation sufficient for them to slaughter the whole crew. This battle, so fatal to the Spaniards, cost the Buccaneers only one man killed outright, and 22 wounded. Townley was among the wounded. Two of the prizes were immediately manned from the canoes, the largest under the command of Le Picard, who was the chief among the French of this party. They had many prisoners; and one was sent with a letter to the President of _Panama_, to demand ransom for them; also medicines and dressings for the wounded, and the release of five Buccaneers who they learnt were prisoners to the Spaniards. The medicines were sent, but the President would not treat either of ransom, or of the release of the buccaneer prisoners. The Buccaneers dispatched a second message to the President, in which they threatened that if the five Buccaneers were not immediately delivered to them, the heads of all the Spaniards in their possession, should be sent to him. The President paid little attention to this message, not believing that such a threat would be executed; but the Bishop of _Panama_, regarding what had recently happened at _Lavelia_ as an earnest of what the Buccaneers were capable, was seriously alarmed. He wrote a letter to them which he sent by a special messenger, in which he exhorted them in the mildest terms not to shed the blood of innocent men, and promised if they would have patience, to exert his influence to procure the release of the buccaneer prisoners. His letter concluded with the following remarkable paragraph, which shews the great hopes entertained by the Roman Catholics respecting _Great Britain_ during the Reign of King James the IId. '_I have information_,' says the Bishop, '_to give you, that the English are all become Roman Catholics, and that there is now a Catholic Church at Jamaica_.' The good Prelate's letter was pronounced by the Buccaneers to be void of truth and sincerity, and an insult to their understanding. They had already received the price of blood, shed not in battle nor in their own defence; and now, devoting themselves to their thirst for gain, they would not be diverted from their sanguinary purpose, but came to the resolution of sending the heads of twenty Spaniards to the President, and with them a message purporting that if they did not receive a satisfactory answer to all their demands by the 28th of the month, the heads of the remaining prisoners should answer for it. Lussan says, 'the President's refusal obliged us, though with some reluctance, to take the resolution to send him twenty heads of his people in a canoe. This method was indeed a little violent, but it was the only way to bring the Spaniards to reason[87].' What they had resolved they put into immediate execution. The President of _Panama_ was entirely overcome by their inhuman proceedings, and in the first shock and surprise, he yielded without stipulation to all they had demanded. On the 28th, the buccaneer prisoners (four Englishmen and one Frenchman) were delivered to them, with a letter from the President, who said he left to their own conscience the disposal of the Spanish prisoners yet remaining in their hands. To render the triumph of cruelty and ferocity more complete, the Buccaneers, in an answer to the President, charged the whole blame of what they had done to his obstinacy; in exchange for the five Buccaneers, they sent only twelve of their Spanish prisoners; and they demanded 20,000 pieces of eight as ransom of the remainder, which demand however, they afterwards mitigated to half that sum and a supply of refreshments. On the 4th of September, the ransom was paid, and the prisoners were released. [Sidenote: September. Death of Townley.] September the 9th, the buccaneer commander, Townley, died of the wound he received in the last battle. The English and French Buccaneers were faithful associates, but did not mix well as comrades. In a short time after Townley's death, the English desired that a division should be made of the prize vessels, artillery, and stores, and that those of their nation should keep together in the same vessels: and this was done, without other separation taking place at the time. [Sidenote: November.] In November, they left the _Bay of Panama_, and sailed Westward to their old station near the _Point de Burica_, where, by surprising small towns, villages, and farms, a business at which they had become extremely expert, they procured provisions; and by the ransom of prisoners, some money. [Sidenote: 1687. January.] In January (1687) they intercepted a letter from the Spanish Commandant at _Sonsonnate_ addressed to the President of _Panama_, by which they learnt that Grogniet had been in _Amapalla Bay_, and that three of his men had been taken prisoners. The Commandant remarked in his letter, that the peace made with the _Darien_ Indians, having cut off the retreat of the Buccaneers, would drive them to desperation, and render them like so many mad dogs; he advised therefore that some means should be adopted to facilitate their retreat, that the Spaniards in the _South Sea_ might again enjoy repose. '_They have landed_,' he says, '_in these parts ten or twelve times, without knowing what they were seeking; but wheresoever they come, they spoil and lay waste every thing_.' A few days after intercepting this letter, they took prisoner a Spanish horseman. Lussan says, 'We interrogated him with the usual ceremonies, that is to say, we gave him the torture, to make him tell us what we wanted to know.' Many such villanies were undoubtedly committed by these banditti, more than appear in their Narratives, or than they dared to make known. Lussan, who writes a history of his voyage, not before the end of the second year of his adventures in the _South Sea_, relates that they put a prisoner to the torture; and it would have appeared as an individual instance, if he had not, probably through inadvertence, acknowledged it to have been their established practice. Lussan on his return to his native land, pretended to reputation and character; and he found countenance and favour from his superiors; it is therefore to be presumed, that he would suppress every transaction in which he was a participator, which he thought of too deep a nature to be received by his patrons with indulgence. A circumstance which tended to make this set of Buccaneers worse than any that had preceded them, was, its being composed of men of two nations between which there has existed a constant jealousy and emulation. They were each ambitious to outdo the other in acts of daringness, and were thereby instigated to every kind of excess. [Sidenote: Grogniet rejoins them.] On the 20th, near _Caldera Bay_, they met Grogniet with sixty French Buccaneers in three canoes. Grogniet had parted from Townley at the head of 148 men. They had made several descents on the coast. At the _Bay of Amapalla_, they marched 14 leagues within the coast to a gold-mine, where they took many prisoners, and a small quantity of gold. Grogniet wished to return overland to the West-Indian Sea, but the majority of his companions were differently inclined, and 85 quitted him, and went to try their fortunes towards _California_. Grogniet nevertheless persevered in the design with the remainder of his crew, to seek some part of the coast of _New Spain_, thin of inhabitants, where they might land unknown to the Spaniards, and march without obstruction through the country to the shore of the _Atlantic_, without other guide than a compass. The party they now met with, prevailed on them to defer the execution of this project to a season of the year more favourable, and in the mean time to unite with them. [Sidenote: February. They divide.] In February, they set fire to the town of _Nicoya_. Their gains by these descents were so small, that they agreed to leave the coast of _New Spain_ and to go against _Guayaquil_; but on coming to this determination, the English and the French fell into high dispute for the priority of choice in the prize vessels which they expected to take, insomuch that upon this difference they broke off partnership. [Sidenote: Both Parties sail for the Coast of Peru.] Grogniet however, and about fifty of the French, remained with the English, which made the whole number of that party 142 men, and they all embarked in one ship, the canoes not being safe for an open sea navigation. The other party numbered 162 men, all French, and embarked in a small ship and a _Barca longa_. The most curious circumstance attending this separation was, that both parties persevered in the design upon _Guayaquil_, without any proposal being made by either to act in concert. They sailed from the coast of _New Spain_ near the end of February, not in company, but each using all their exertions to arrive first at the place of destination. [Sidenote: They meet again, and reunite.] They crossed the Equinoctial line separately, but afterwards at sea accidentally fell in company with each other again, and at this meeting they accommodated their differences, and renewed their partnership. [Sidenote: April.] April the 13th, they were near _Point Santa Elena_, on the coast of _Peru_, and met there a prize vessel belonging to their old Commander Edward Davis and his Company, but which had been separated from him. She was laden with corn and wine, and eight of Davis's men had the care of her. They had been directed in case of separation, to rendezvous at the Island _Plata_; but the uncertainty of meeting Davis there, and the danger they should incur if they missed him, made them glad to join in the expedition against _Guayaquil_, and the provisions with which the vessel was laden, made them welcome associates to the Buccaneers engaged in it. [Sidenote: Attack on Guayaquil.] Their approach to the City of _Guayaquil_ was conducted with the most practised circumspection and vigilance. On first getting sight of _Point Santa Elena_, they took in their sails and lay with them furled as long as there was daylight. In the night they pursued their course, keeping at a good distance from the land, till they were to the Southward of the _Island Santa Clara_. [Sidenote: 15th.] Two hundred and sixty men then (April the 15th) departed from the ships in canoes. They landed at _Santa Clara_, which was uninhabited, and at a part of the _Island Puna_ distant from any habitation, proceeding only during the night time, and lying in concealment during the day. [Sidenote: 18th.] In the night of the 17th, they approached the _River Guayaquil_. At daylight, they were perceived by a guard on watch near the entrance, who lighted a fire as a signal to other guards stationed farther on; by whom, however, the signal was not observed. The Buccaneers put as speedily as they could to the nearest land, and a party of the most alert made a circuit through the woods, and surprised the guard at the first signal station, before the alarm had spread farther. They stopped near the entrance till night. [Sidenote: 19th. 20th.] All day of the 19th, they rested at an Island in the river, and at night advanced again. Their intention was to have passed the town in their canoes, and to have landed above it, where they would be the least expected; but the tide of flood with which they ascended the river did not serve long enough for their purpose, and on the 20th, two hours before day, they landed a short distance below the town, towards which they began to march; but the ground was marshy and overgrown with brushwood. Thus far they had proceeded undiscovered; when one of the Buccaneers left to guard the canoes struck a light to smoke tobacco, which was perceived by a Spanish sentinel on the shore opposite, who immediately fired his piece, and gave alarm to the Fort and Town. This discovery and the badness of the road caused the Buccaneers to defer the attack till daylight. The town of _Guayaquil_ is built round a mountain, on which were three forts which overlooked the town. [Sidenote: The City taken.] The Spaniards made a tolerable defence, but by the middle of the day they were driven from all their forts, and the town was left to the Buccaneers, detachments of whom were sent to endeavour to bring in prisoners, whilst a chosen party went to the Great Church to chant _Te Deum_. Nine Buccaneers were killed and twelve wounded in the attack. The booty found in the town was considerable in jewels, merchandise, and silver, particularly in church plate, besides 92,000 dollars in money, and they took seven hundred prisoners, among whom were the Governor and his family. Fourteen vessels lay at anchor in the Port, and two ships were on the stocks nearly fit for launching. On the evening of the day that the city was taken, the Governor (being a prisoner) entered into treaty with the Buccaneers, for the City, Fort, Shipping, himself, and all the prisoners, to be redeemed for a million pieces of eight, to be paid in gold, and 400 packages of flour; and to hasten the procurement of the money, which was to be brought from _Quito_, the Vicar General of the district, who was also a prisoner, was released. [Sidenote: 21st.] The 21st, in the night, by the carelessness of a Buccaneer, one of the houses took fire, which communicated to other houses with such rapidity, that one third of the city was destroyed before its progress was stopped. It had been specified in the treaty, that the Buccaneers should not set fire to the town; 'therefore,' says Lussan, 'lest in consequence of this accident, the Spaniards should refuse to pay the ransom, we pretended to believe it was their doing.' Many bodies of the Spaniards killed in the assault of the town, remained unburied where they had fallen, and the Buccaneers were apprehensive that some infectious disorder would thereby be produced. [Sidenote: 24th. At the Island Puna.] They hastened therefore to embark on board the vessels in the port, their plunder and 500 of their prisoners, with which, on the 25th, they fell down the River to the _Island Puna_, where they proposed to wait for the ransom. [Sidenote: May. Grogniet dies.] On the 2d of May, Captain Grogniet died of a wound he received at _Guayaquil_. Le Picard was afterwards the chief among the French Buccaneers. The 5th of May had been named for the payment of the ransom, from which time the money was daily and with increasing impatience expected by the Buccaneers. It was known that Spanish ships of war were equipping at _Callao_ purposely to attack them; and also that their former Commander, Edward Davis, with a good ship, was near this part of the coast. They were anxious to have his company, and on the 4th, dispatched a galley to seek him at the Island _Plata_, the place of rendezvous he had appointed for his prize. The 5th passed without any appearance of ransom money; as did many following days. The Spaniards, however, regularly sent provisions to the ships at _Puna_ every day, otherwise the prisoners would have starved; but in lieu of money they substituted nothing better than promises. The Buccaneers would have felt it humiliation to appear less ferocious than on former occasions, and they recurred to their old mode of intimidation. They made the prisoners throw dice to determine which of them should die, and the heads of four on whom the lot fell were delivered to a Spanish officer in answer to excuses for delay which he had brought from the Lieutenant Governor of _Guayaquil_, with an intimation that at the end of four days more five hundred heads should follow, if the ransom did not arrive. [Sidenote: 14th.] On the 14th, their galley which had been sent in search of Davis returned, not having found him at the Island _Plata_; but she brought notice of two strange sail being near the Cape _Santa Elena_. [Sidenote: Edward Davis joins Le Picard.] These proved to be Edward Davis's ship, and a prize. Davis had received intelligence, as already mentioned, of the Buccaneers having captured _Guayaquil_, and was now come purposely to join them. He sent his prize to the Buccaneers at _Puna_, and remained with his own ship in the offing on the look-out. The four days allowed for the payment of the ransom expired, and no ransom was sent; neither did the Buccaneers execute their sanguinary threat. It is worthy of remark, that intreaty or intercession made to this set of Buccaneers, so far from obtaining remission or favour, at all times produced the opposite effect, as if reminding them of their power, instigated them to an imperious display of it. The Lieutenant Governor of _Guayaquil_ was in no haste to fulfil the terms of the treaty made by the Governor, nor did he importune them with solicitations, and the whole business for a time lay at rest. The forbearance of the Buccaneers may not unjustly be attributed to Davis having joined them. [Sidenote: 23d.] On the 23d, the Spaniards paid to the Buccaneers as much gold as amounted in value to 20,000 pieces of eight, and eighty packages of flour, as part of the ransom. The day following, the Lieutenant Governor sent word, that they might receive 22,000 pieces of eight more for the release of the prisoners, and if that sum would not satisfy them, they might do their worst, for that no greater would be paid them. Upon this message, the Buccaneers held a consultation, whether they should cut off the heads of all the prisoners, or take the 22,000 pieces of eight, and it was determined, not unanimously, but by a majority of voices, that it was better to take a little money than to cut off many heads. Lussan, his own biographer and a young man, boasts of the pleasant manner in which he passed his time at _Puna_. 'We made good cheer, being daily supplied with refreshments from _Guayaquil_. We had concerts of music; we had the best performers of the city among our prisoners. Some among us engaged in friendships with our women prisoners, who were not hard hearted.' This is said by way of prelude to a history which he gives of his own good fortune; all which, whether true or otherwise, serves to shew, that among this abandoned crew the prisoners of both sexes were equally unprotected. [Sidenote: 26th.] On the 26th, the 22,000 pieces of eight were paid to the Buccaneers, who selected a hundred prisoners of the most consideration to retain, and released the rest. The same day, they quitted their anchorage at _Puna_, intending to anchor again at Point _Santa Elena_, and there to enter afresh into negociation for ransom of prisoners: but in the evening, two Spanish Ships of War came in sight. The engagement which ensued, and other proceedings of the Buccaneers, until Edward Davis parted company to return homeward by the South of _America_, has been related. [Sidenote: See pp. 196 to 200.] It remains to give an account of the French Buccaneers after the separation, to their finally quitting the _South Sea_. CHAP. XXIV. _Retreat of the =French Buccaneers= across =New Spain= to the =West Indies=. All the =Buccaneers= quit the =South Sea=._ [Sidenote: 1687. June. Le Picard and Hout.] The party left by Davis consisted of 250 Buccaneers, the greater number of whom were French, the rest were English, and their leaders Le Picard and George Hout. They had determined to quit the _South Sea_, and with that view to sail to the coast of _New Spain_, whence they proposed to march over land to the shore of the _Caribbean Sea_. [Sidenote: July. On the Coast of New Spain.] About the end of July, they anchored in the _Bay of Amapalla_, and were joined there by thirty French Buccaneers. These thirty were part of a crew which had formerly quitted Grogniet to cruise towards _California_. Others of that party were still on the coast to the North-West, and the Buccaneers in _Amapalla Bay_ put to sea in search of them, that all of their fraternity in the _South Sea_ might be collected, and depart together. In the search after their former companions, they landed at different places on the coast of _New Spain_. Among their adventures here, they took, and remained four days in possession of, the Town of _Tecoantepeque_, but without any profit to themselves. At _Guatulco_, they plundered some plantations, and obtained provisions in ransom for prisoners. Whilst they lay there at anchor, they saw a vessel in the offing, which from her appearance, and manner of working her sails, they believed to contain the people they were seeking; but the wind and sea set so strong on the shore at the time, that neither their vessels nor boats could go out to ascertain what she was; and after that day, they did not see her again. [Sidenote: December. In Amapalla Bay.] In the middle of December they returned to the _Bay of Amapalla_, which they had fixed upon for the place of their departure from the shores of the _South Sea_. Their plan was, to march by the town of _Nueva Segovia_, which had before been visited by Buccaneers, and they now expected would furnish them with provisions. According to Lussan's information, the distance they would have to travel by land from _Amapalla Bay_, was about 60 leagues, when they would come to the source of a river, by which they could descend to the _Caribbean Sea_, near to _Cape Gracias a Dios_. Whilst they made preparation for their march, they were anxious to obtain intelligence what force the Spaniards had in their proposed route, but the natives kept at a distance. On the 18th, seventy Buccaneers landed and marched into the country, of which adventure Lussan gives the account following. They travelled the whole day without meeting an inhabitant. They rested for the night, and next morning proceeded in their journey, but all seemed a desert, and about noon, the majority were dissatisfied and turned back. Twenty went on; and soon after came to a beaten road, on which they perceived three horsemen riding towards them, whom they way-laid so effectually as to take them all. [Sidenote: Chiloteca.] By these men they learnt the way to a small town named _Chiloteca_, to which they went and there made fifty of the inhabitants prisoners. [Sidenote: Massacre of Prisoners.] They took up their quarters in the church, where they also lodged their prisoners, and intended to have rested during the night; but after dark, they heard much bustle in the town, which made them apprehensive the Spaniards were preparing to attack them, and the noise caused in the prisoners the appearance of a disposition to rise; upon which, the Buccaneers slew them all except four, whom they carried away with them, and reached the vessels without being molested in their retreat. The prisoners were interrogated; and the accounts they gave confirmed the Buccaneers in the opinion that they had no better chance of transporting themselves and their plunder to the _North Sea_, than by immediately setting about the execution of the plan they had formed. [Sidenote: The Buccaneers burn their Vessels.] To settle the order of the march, they landed their riches and the stores necessary for their journey, on one of the Islands in the Bay; and that their number might not suffer diminution by the defection of any, it was agreed to destroy the vessels, which was executed forthwith, with the reserve of one galley and the canoes, which were necessary for the transport of themselves and their effects to the main land. They made a muster of their force, which they divided into four companies, each consisting of seventy men, and every man having his arms and accoutrements. Whilst these matters were arranging, a detachment of 100 men were sent to the main land to endeavour to get horses. They had destroyed their vessels, and had not removed from the Island, when a large Spanish armed ship anchored in _Amapalla Bay_; but she was not able to give them annoyance, nor in the least to impede their operations. [Sidenote: 1688. January.] On the 1st of January, 1688, they passed over, with their effects, to the main land, and the same day, the party which had gone in search of horses, returned, bringing with them sixty-eight, which were divided equally among the four companies, to be employed in carrying stores and provisions, as were eighty prisoners, who besides being carriers of stores, were made to carry the sick and wounded. Every Buccaneer had his particular sack, or package, which it was required should contain his ammunition; what else, was at his own discretion. Many of these Buccaneers had more silver than themselves were able to carry. There were also many who had neither silver nor gold, and were little encumbered with effects of their own: these light freighted gentry were glad to be hired as porters to the rich, and the contract for carrying silver, on this occasion, was one half; that is to say, that on arriving at the _North Sea_, there should be an equal division between the employer and the carrier. Carriage of gold or other valuables was according to particular agreement. Lussan, who no doubt was as sharp a rogue as any among his companions, relates of himself, that he had been fortunate at play, and that his winnings added to his share of plunder, amounted to 30,000 pieces of eight, the whole of which he had converted into gold and jewels; and that whilst they were making ready for their march, he received warning from a friend that a gang had been formed by about twenty of the poorer Buccaneers, with the intention to waylay and strip those of their brethren, who had been most fortunate. On considering the danger and great difficulty of having to guard against the machinations of hungry conspirators who were to be his fellow-travellers in a long journey, and might have opportunities to perpetrate their mischievous intentions during any fight with the Spaniards, Lussan came to the resolution of making a sacrifice of part of his riches to insure the remaining part, and to lessen the temptation to any individual to seek his death. To this end he divided his treasure into a number of small parcels, which he confided to the care of so many of his companions, making agreement with each for the carriage. [Sidenote: Retreat of the Buccaneers over land to the West Indian Sea.] January the 2d, in the morning, they began their march, an advanced guard being established to consist of ten men from each company, who were to be relieved every morning by ten others. At night they rested at four leagues distance, according to their estimation, from the border of the sea. The first part of Lussan's account of this journey has little of adventure or description. The difficulties experienced were what had been foreseen, such as the inhabitants driving away cattle and removing provisions, setting fire to the dry grass when it could annoy them in their march; and sometimes the Buccaneers were fired at by unseen shooters. They rested at villages and farms when they found any in their route, where, and also by making prisoners, they obtained provisions. When no habitations or buildings were at hand, they generally encamped at night on a hill, or in open ground. Very early in their march they were attended by a body of Spanish troops at a small distance, the music of whose trumpets afforded them entertainment every morning and evening; 'but,' says Lussan, 'it was like the music of the enchanted palace of Psyche, which was heard without the musicians being visible.' On the forenoon of the 9th, notwithstanding their vigilance, the Buccaneers were saluted with an unexpected volley of musketry which killed two men; and this was the only mischance that befel them in their march from the Western Sea to _Segovia_, which town they entered on the 11th of January, without hindrance, and found it without inhabitants, and cleared of every kind of provisions. [Sidenote: Town of New Segovia.] 'The town of _Segovia_ is situated in a vale, and is so surrounded with mountains that it seems to be a prisoner there. The churches are ill built. The place of arms, or parade, is large and handsome, as are many of the houses. It is distant from the shore of the _South Sea_ forty leagues: The road is difficult, the country being extremely mountainous.' On the 12th, they left _Segovia_ and without injuring the houses, a forbearance to which they had little accustomed themselves; but present circumstances brought to their consideration that if it should be their evil fortune to be called to account, it might be quite as well for them not to add the burning of _Segovia_ to the reckoning. The 13th, an hour before sunset, they ascended a hill, which appeared a good station to occupy for the night. When they arrived at the summit, they perceived on the slope of the next mountain before them, a great number of horses grazing (Lussan says between twelve and fifteen hundred), which at the first sight they mistook for horned cattle, and congratulated each other on the near prospect of a good meal; but it was soon discovered they were horses, and that a number of them were saddled: intrenchments also were discerned near the same place, and finally, troops. This part of the country was a thick forest, with deep gullies, and not intersected with any path excepting the road they were travelling, which led across the mountain where the Spaniards were intrenched. On reconnoitring the position of the Spaniards, the road beyond them was seen to the right of the intrenchments. The Buccaneers on short consultation, determined that they would endeavour under cover of the night to penetrate the wood to their right, so as to arrive at the road beyond the Spanish camp, and come on it by surprise. This plan was similar to that which they had projected at _Guayaquil_, and was a business exactly suited to the habits and inclinations of these adventurers, who more than any other of their calling, or perhaps than the native tribes of _North America_, were practised and expert in veiling their purpose so as not to awaken suspicion; in concealing themselves by day and making silent advances by night, and in all the arts by which even the most wary may be ensnared. Here, immediately after fixing their plan, they began to intrench and fortify the ground they occupied, and made all the dispositions which troops usually do who halt for the night. This encampment, besides impressing the Spaniards with the belief that they intended to pass the night in repose, was necessary to the securing their baggage and prisoners. Rest seemed necessary and due to the Buccaneers after a toilsome day's march, and so it was thought by the Spanish Commander, who seeing them fortify their quarters, doubted not that they meant to do themselves justice; but an hour after the close of day, two hundred Buccaneers departed from their camp. The moon shone out bright, which gave them light to penetrate the woods, whilst the woods gave them concealment from the Spaniards, and the Spaniards kept small lookout. Before midnight, they were near enough to hear the Spaniards chanting Litanies, and long before daylight were in the road beyond the Spanish encampment. They waited till the day broke, and then pushed for the camp, which, as had been conjectured, was entirely open on this side. Two Spanish sentinels discovered the approach of the enemy, and gave alarm; but the Buccaneers were immediately after in the camp, and the Spanish troops disturbed from their sleep had neither time nor recollection for any other measure than to save themselves by flight. They abandoned all the intrenchments, and the Buccaneers being masters of the pass, were soon joined by the party who had charge of the baggage and prisoners. In this affair, the loss of the Buccaneers was only two men killed, and four wounded. In the remaining part of their journey, they met no serious obstruction, and were not at any time distressed by a scarcity of provisions. Lussan says they led from the Spanish encampment 900 horses, which served them for carriage, for present food, and to salt for future provision when they should arrive at the sea shore. [Sidenote: Rio de Yare, or Cape River.] On the 17th of January, which was the 16th of their journey, they came to the banks of a river by which they were to descend to the _Caribbean Sea_. This river has its source among the mountains of _Nueva Segovia_, and falls into the sea to the South of _Cape Gracias a Dios_ about 14 leagues, according to D'Anville's Map, in which it is called _Rio de Yare_. Dampier makes it fall into the sea something more to the Southward, and names it the _Cape River_. The country here was not occupied nor frequented by the Spaniards, and was inhabited only in a few places by small tribes of native Americans. The Buccaneers cut down trees, and made rafts or catamarans for the conveyance of themselves and their effects down the stream. On account of the falls, the rafts were constructed each to carry no more than two persons with their luggage, and every man went provided with a pole to guide the raft clear of rocks and shallows. In the commencement of this fresh-water navigation, their maritime experience, with all the pains they could take, did not prevent their getting into whirlpools, where the rafts were overturned, with danger to the men and frequently with the loss of part of the lading. When they came to a fall which appeared more than usually dangerous, they put ashore, took their rafts to pieces, and carried all below the fall, where they re-accommodated matters and embarked again. The rapidity of the stream meeting many obstructions, raised a foam and spray that kept every thing on the rafts constantly wet; the salted horse flesh was in a short time entirely spoilt, and their ammunition in a state not to be of service in supplying them with game. Fortunately for them the banks of the river abounded in banana-trees, both wild and in plantations. When they first embarked on the river, the rafts went in close company; but the irregularity and violence of the stream, continually entangled and drove them against each other, on which account the method was changed, and distances preserved. This gave opportunity to the desperadoes who had conspired against their companions to commence their operations, which they directed against five Englishmen, whom they killed and despoiled. The murderers absconded in the woods with their prey, and were not afterwards seen by the company. [Sidenote: February, 1688.] The 20th of February they had passed all the falls, and were at a broad deep and smooth part of the river, where they found no other obstruction than trees and drift-wood floating. As they were near the sea, many stopped and began to build canoes. Some English Buccaneers who went lower down the river, found at anchor an English vessel belonging to _Jamaica_, from which they learnt that the French Government had just proclaimed an amnesty in favour of those who since the Peace made with _Spain_ had committed acts of piracy, upon condition of their claiming the benefit of the Proclamation within a specified time. A similar proclamation had been issued in the year 1687 by the English Government; but as it was not clear from the report made by the crew of the _Jamaica_ vessel, whether it yet operated, the English Buccaneers would not embark for _Jamaica_. They sent by two Mosquito Indians, an account of the news they had heard to the French Buccaneers, with notice that there was a vessel at the mouth of the river capable of accommodating not more than forty persons. Immediately on receiving the intelligence, above a hundred of the French set off in all haste for the vessel, every one of whom pretended to be of the forty. Those who first arrived on board, took up the anchor as speedily as they could, and set sail, whilst those who were behind called loudly for a decision by lot or dice; but the first comers were content to rest their title on possession. The English Buccaneers remained for the present with the Mosquito Indians near _Cape Gracias a Dios_, 'who,' says Lussan, 'have an affection for the English, on account of the many little commodities which they bring them from the Island of _Jamaica_.' The greater part of the French Buccaneers went to the French settlements; but seventy-five of them who went to _Jamaica_, were apprehended and detained prisoners by the Duke of Albemarle, who was then Governor, and their effects sequestrated. They remained in prison until the death of the Duke, which happened in the following year, when they were released; but neither their arms nor plunder were returned to them. The _South Sea_ was now cleared of the main body of the Buccaneers. A few stragglers remained, concerning whom some scattered notices are found, of which the following are the heads. [Sidenote: La Pava.] Seixas mentions an English frigate named _La Pava_, being wrecked in the _Strait of Magalhanes_ in the year 1687; and that her loss was occasioned by currents[88]. By the name being Spanish (signifying the Hen) this vessel must have been a prize to the Buccaneers. [Sidenote: Captain Straiton.] In the Narrative of the loss of the Wager, by Bulkeley and Cummins, it is mentioned that they found at _Port Desire_ cut on a brick, in very legible characters, "Captain Straiton, 16 cannon, 1687." Most probably this was meant of a Buccaneer vessel. [Sidenote: Le Sage.] At the time that the English and French Buccaneers were crossing the _Isthmus_ in great numbers from the _West Indies_ to the _South Sea_, two hundred French Buccaneers departed from _Hispaniola_ in a ship commanded by a Captain Le Sage, intending to go to the _South Sea_ by the _Strait of Magalhanes_; but having chosen a wrong season of the year for that passage, and finding the winds unfavourable, they stood over to the coast of _Africa_, where they continued cruising two years, and returned to the _West Indies_ with great booty, obtained at the expence of the Hollanders. [Sidenote: Small Crew of Buccaneers at the Tres Marias.] The small crew of French Buccaneers in the _South Sea_ who were a part of those who had separated from Grogniet to cruise near _California_, and for whom Le Picard had sought in vain on the coast of _New Spain_, were necessitated by the smallness of their force, and the bad state of their vessel, to shelter themselves at the _Tres Marias Islands_ in the entrance of the _Gulf of California_. [Sidenote: Their Adventures, and Return to the West Indies.] It is said that they remained four years among those Islands, at the end of which time, they determined, rather than to pass the rest of their lives in so desolate a place, to sail Southward, though with little other prospect or hope than that they should meet some of their former comrades; instead of which, on looking in at _Arica_ on the coast of _Peru_, they found at anchor in the road a Spanish ship, which they took, and in her a large quantity of treasure. The Buccaneers embarked in their prize, and proceeded Southward for the _Atlantic_, but were cast ashore in the _Strait of Magalhanes_. Part of the treasure, and as much of the wreck of the vessel as served to construct two sloops, were saved, with which, after so many perils, they arrived safe in the _West Indies_. [Sidenote: Story related by Le Sieur Froger.] Le Sieur Froger, in his account of the Voyage of M. de Gennes, has introduced a narrative of a party of French Buccaneers or Flibustiers going from _Saint Domingo_ to the _South Sea_, in the year 1686; which is evidently a romance fabricated from the descriptions which had been given of their general courses and habits. These _protegés_ of Le Sieur Froger, like the Buccaneer crew from the _Tres Marias Islands_ just mentioned, were reduced to great distress,--took a rich prize afterwards on the coast of _Peru_,--were returning to the _Atlantic_, and lost their ship in the _Strait of Magalhanes_. They were ten months in the _Strait_ building a bark, which they loaded with the best of what they had saved of the cargo of their ship, and in the end arrived safe at _Cayenne_[89]. Funnel also mentions a report which he heard, of a small crew of French Buccaneers, not more than twenty, whose adventures were of the same cast; and who probably were the _Tres Marias_ Buccaneers. It has been related that five Buccaneers who had gamed away their money, unwilling to return poor out of the _South Sea_, landed at the Island _Juan Fernandez_ from Edward Davis's ship, about the end of the year 1687, and were left there. In 1690, the English ship Welfare, commanded by Captain John Strong, anchored at _Juan Fernandez_; of which voyage two journals have been preserved among the MSS in the Sloane Collection in the British Museum, from which the following account is taken. The Farewell arrived off the Island on the evening of October the 11th, 1690. In the night, those on board were surprised at seeing a fire on an elevated part of the land. Early next morning, a boat was sent on shore, which soon returned, bringing off from the Island two Englishmen. These were part of the five who had landed from Davis's ship. They piloted the Welfare to a good anchoring place. [Sidenote: Buccaneers who lived three years on the Island Juan Fernandez.] In the three years that they had lived on _Juan Fernandez_, they had not, until the arrival of the Welfare, seen any other ships than Spaniards, which was a great disappointment to them. The Spaniards had landed and had endeavoured to take them, but they had found concealment in the woods; one excepted, who deserted from his companions, and delivered himself up to the Spaniards. The four remaining, when they learnt that the Buccaneers had entirely quitted the _South Sea_, willingly embarked with Captain Strong, and with them four servants or slaves. Nothing is said of the manner in which they employed themselves whilst on the Island, except of their contriving subterraneous places of concealment that the Spaniards should not find them, and of their taming a great number of goats, so that at one time they had a tame stock of 300. CHAP. XXV. _Steps taken towards reducing the =Buccaneers= and =Flibustiers= under subordination to the regular Governments. War of the Grand Alliance against =France=. The Neutrality of the =Island Saint Christopher= broken._ Whilst these matters were passing in the _Pacific Ocean_, small progress was made in the reform which had been begun in the _West Indies_. The English Governors by a few examples of severity restrained the English Buccaneers from undertaking any enterprise of magnitude. With the French, the case was different. The number of the Flibustiers who absented themselves from _Hispaniola_, to go to the _South Sea_, alarmed the French Government for the safety of their colonies, and especially of their settlements in _Hispaniola_, the security and defence of which against the Spaniards they had almost wholly rested on its being the place of residence and the home of those adventurers. To persist in a rigorous police against their cruising, it was apprehended would make the rest of them quit _Hispaniola_, for which reason it was judged prudent to relax in the enforcement of the prohibitions; the Flibustiers accordingly continued their courses as usual. [Sidenote: 1686.] In 1686, Granmont and De Graaf prepared an armament against _Campeachy_. M. de Cussy, who was Governor of _Tortuga_ and the French part of _Hispaniola_, applied personally to them to relinquish their design; but as the force was collected, and all preparation made, neither the Flibustiers nor their Commanders would be dissuaded from the undertaking, and De Cussy submitted. [Sidenote: Campeachy burnt.] _Campeachy_ was plundered and burnt. A measure was adopted by the French Government which certainly trenched on the honour of the regular military establishments of _France_, but was attended with success in bringing the Flibustiers more under control and rendering them more manageable. This was, the taking into the King's service some of the principal leaders of the Flibustiers, and giving them commissions of advanced rank, either in the land service or in the French marine. [Sidenote: Granmont.] A commission was made out for Granmont, appointing him Commandant on the South coast of _Saint Domingo_, with the rank of Lieutenant du Roy. But of Granmont as a Buccaneer, it might be said in the language of sportsmen, that he was game to the last. Before the commission arrived, he received information of the honour intended him, and whilst yet in his state of liberty, was seized with the wish to make one more cruise. He armed a ship, and, with a crew of 180 Flibustiers in her, put to sea. This was near the end of the year 1686; and what afterwards became of him and his followers is not known, for they were not again seen or heard of. [Sidenote: 1687.] In the beginning of 1687, a commission arrived from _France_, appointing De Graaf Major in the King's army in the _West Indies_. He was then with a crew of Flibustiers near _Carthagena_. In this cruise, twenty-five of his men who landed in the _Gulf of Darien_, were cut off by the Darien Indians. De Graaf on his return into port accepted his commission, and when transformed to an officer in the King's army, became, like Morgan, a great scourge to the Flibustiers and _Forbans_. [Sidenote: Proclamation against Pirates.] In consequence of complaints made by the Spaniards, a Proclamation was issued at this time, by the King of _Great Britain_, James the IId, specified in the title to be 'for the more effectual reducing and suppressing of Pirates and Privateers in _America_, as well on the sea as on the land, who in great numbers have committed frequent robberies, which hath occasioned great prejudice and obstruction to Trade and Commerce.' [Sidenote: 1688.] A twenty years truce had, in the year 1686, been agreed upon between _France_ and _Spain_, but scarcely a twentieth part of that time was suffered to elapse before it was broken in the _West Indies_. [Sidenote: Danish Factory robbed by the Buccaneers.] The Flibustiers of _Hispaniola_ did not content themselves with their customary practice: in 1688 they plundered the Danish Factory at the Island _St. Thomas_, which is one of the small Islands called _the Virgins_, near the East end of _Porto Rico_. This was an aggression beyond the limits which they had professed to prescribe to their depredatory system, and it is not shewn that they had received injury at the hands of the Danes. Nevertheless, the French West-India histories say, 'Our Flibustiers (_nos Flibustiers_), in 1688, surprised the Danish Factory at _St. Thomas_. The pillage was considerable, and would have been more if they had known that the chief part of the cash was kept in a vault under the hall, which was known to very few of the house. They forgot on this occasion their ordinary practice, which is to put their prisoners to the torture to make them declare where the money is. It is certain that if they had so done, the hiding-place would have been revealed to them, in which it was believed there was more than 500,000 livres.' Such remarks shew the strong prepossession which existed in favour of the Buccaneers, and an eagerness undistinguishing and determined after the extraordinary. Qualities the most common to the whole of mankind were received as wonderful when related of the Buccaneers. One of our Encyclopedias, under the article Buccaneer, says, 'they were transported with an astonishing degree of enthusiasm whenever they saw a sail.' In this same year, 1688, war broke out in Europe between the French and Spaniards, and in a short time the English joined against the French. [Sidenote: 1689. July.] _England_ and _France_ had at no period since the Norman conquest been longer without serious quarrel. On the accession of William the IIId. to the crowns of _Great Britain_, it was generally believed that a war with _France_ would ensue. [Sidenote: The English driven from St. Christopher.] The French in the _West Indies_ did not wait for its being declared, but attacked the English part of _St. Christopher_, the Island on which by joint agreement had been made the original and confederated first settlements of the two Nations in the _West Indies_. [Sidenote: See p. 38.] The English inhabitants were driven from their possessions and obliged to retire to the Island _Nevis_, which terminated the longest preserved union which history can shew between the English and French as subjects of different nations. In the commencement it was strongly cemented by the mutual want of support against a powerful enemy; that motive for their adherence to each other had ceased to exist: yet in the reigns of Charles the IId. and James the IId. of _England_, an agreement had been made between _England_ and _France_, that if war should at any time break out between them, a neutrality should be observed by their subjects in the _West Indies_. This war continued nearly to the end of King William's reign, and during that time the English and French Buccaneers were engaged on opposite sides, as auxiliaries to the regular forces of their respective nations, which completely separated them; and it never afterwards happened that they again confederated in any buccaneer cause. They became more generally distinguished by different appellations, not consonant to their present situations and habits; for the French adventurers, who were frequently occupied in hunting and at the _boucan_, were called the Flibustiers of _St. Domingo_, and the English adventurers, who had nothing to do with the _boucan_, were called the Buccaneers of _Jamaica_. [Sidenote: 1690. July. The English retake St. Christopher.] The French had not kept possession of _St. Christopher_ quite a year, when it was taken from them by the English. This was an unfortunate year for the French, who in it suffered a great defeat from the Spaniards in _Hispaniola_. Their Governor De Cussy, and 500 Frenchmen, fell in battle, and the Town of _Cape François_ was demolished. The French Flibustiers at this time greatly annoyed _Jamaica_, making descents, in which they carried off such a number of negroes, that in derision they nicknamed _Jamaica 'Little Guinea_.' The principal transactions in the _West Indies_, were, the attempts made by each party on the possessions of the other. In the course of these services, De Graaf was accused of misconduct, tried, and deprived of his commission in the army; but though judged unfit for command in land service, out of respect to his maritime experience he was appointed Captain of a Frigate. No one among the Flibustiers was more distinguished for courage and enterprise in this war than Jean Montauban, who commanded a ship of between 30 and 40 guns. He sailed from the _West Indies_ to _Bourdeaux_ in 1694. In February of the year following, he departed from _Bourdeaux_ for the coast of _Guinea_, where in battle with an English ship of force, both the ships were blown up. Montauban and a few others escaped with their lives. This affair is not to be ranked among buccaneer exploits, _Great Britain_ and _France_ being at open War, and Montauban having a regular commission. CHAP. XXVI. _Seige and Plunder of the City of =Carthagena= on the =Terra Firma=, by an Armament from =France= in conjunction with the =Flibustiers= of =Saint Domingo=._ [Sidenote: 1697.] In 1697, at the suggestion of M. le Baron de Pointis, an officer of high rank in the French Marine, a large armament was fitted out in _France_, jointly at the expence of the Crown, and of private contributors, for an expedition against the Spaniards in the _West Indies_. The chief command was given to M. de Pointis, and orders were sent out to the Governor of the French Settlements in _Hispaniola_ (M. du Casse) to raise 1200 men in _Tortuga_ and _Hispaniola_ to assist in the expedition. The king's regular force in M. du Casse's government was small, and the men demanded were to be supplied principally from the Flibustiers. The dispatches containing the above orders arrived in January. It was thought necessary to specify to the Flibustiers a limitation of time; and they were desired to keep from dispersing till the 15th of February, it being calculated that M. de Pointis would then, or before, certainly be at _Hispaniola_. [Sidenote: March.] De Pointis, however, did not arrive till the beginning of March, when he made _Cape François_, but did not anchor there; preferring the Western part of _Hispaniola_, 'fresh water being better and more easy to be got at _Cape Tiburon_ than at any other part.' M. du Casse had, with some difficulty, kept the Flibustiers together beyond the time specified, and they were soon dissatisfied with the deportment of the Baron de Pointis, which was more imperious than they had been accustomed to from any Commander. [Sidenote: Character of the Buccaneers by M. de Pointis.] M. de Pointis published a history of his expedition, in which he relates that at the first meeting between him and M. du Casse, he expressed himself dissatisfied at the small number of men provided; 'but,' says he, 'M. du Casse assured me that the Buccaneers were at this time collected, and would every man of them perform wonders. It is the good fortune of all the pirates in these parts to be called Buccaneers. These freebooters are, for the most part, composed of those that desert from ships that come upon the coast: the advantage they bring to the Governors, protects them against the prosecution of the law. All who are apprehended as vagabonds in _France_, and can give no account of themselves, are sent to these Islands, where they are obliged to serve for three years. The first that gets them, obliges them to work in the plantations; at the end of the term of servitude, somebody lends them a gun, and to sea they go a buccaneering.' It is proper to hint here, that when M. de Pointis published his Narrative, he was at enmity with the Buccaneers, and had a personal interest in bringing the buccaneer character into disrepute. Many of his remarks upon them, nevertheless, are not less just than characteristic. He continues his description; 'They were formerly altogether independent. Of late years they have been reduced under the government of the coast of _St. Domingo_: they have commissions given them, for which they pay the tenth of all prizes, and are now called the King's subjects. The Governors of our settlements in _Saint Domingo_ being enriched by them, do mightily extol them for the damages they do to the Spaniards. This infamous profession which an impunity for all sorts of crimes renders so much beloved, has within a few years lost us above six thousand men, who might have improved and peopled the colony. At present they are pleased to be called the King's subjects; yet it is with so much arrogance, as obliges all who are desirous to make use of them, to court them in the most flattering terms. This was not agreeable to my disposition, and considering them as his Majesty's subjects which the Governor was ordered to deliver to me, I plainly told them that they should find me a Commander to lead them on, but not as a companion to them.' The expedition, though it was not yet made known, or even yet pretended to be determined, against what place it should be directed, was expected to yield both honour and profit. The Buccaneers would not quarrel with a promising enterprise under a spirited and experienced commander, for a little haughtiness in his demeanour towards them; but they demanded to have clearly specified the share of the prize money and plunder to which they should be entitled, and it was stipulated by mutual agreement 'that the Flibustiers and Colonists should, man for man, have the same shares of booty that were allowed to the men on board the King's ships.' As so many men were to embark from M. du Casse's government, he proposed to go at their head, and desired to know of M. de Pointis what rank would be allowed him. M. du Casse was a mariner by profession, and had the rank of Captain in the French Navy. De Pointis told him that the highest character he knew him in, was that which he derived from his commission as _Capitaine de Vaisseau_, and that if he embarked in the expedition, he must be content to serve in that quality according to his seniority. M. du Casse nevertheless chose to go, though it was generally thought he was not allowed the honours and consideration which were his due as Governor of the French Colonies at _St. Domingo_, and Commander of so large a portion of the men engaged in the expedition. It was settled, that the Flibustiers should embark partly in their own cruising vessels, and partly on board the ships of M. de Pointis' squadron, and should be furnished with six weeks provisions. A review was made, to prevent any but able men of the Colony being taken; negroes who served, if free, were to be allowed shares like other men; if slaves and they were killed, their masters were to be paid for them. Two copies of the agreement respecting the sharing of booty were posted up in public places at _Petit Goave_, and a copy was delivered to M. du Casse, the Governor. M. de Pointis consulted with M. du Casse what enterprise they should undertake, but the determination wholly rested with M. de Pointis. 'There was added,' M. de Pointis says, 'without my knowledge, to the directions sent to Governor du Casse, that he was to give assistance to our undertaking, without damage to, or endangering, his Colony. This restriction did in some measure deprive me of the power of commanding his forces, seeing he had an opportunity of pretending to keep them for the preservation of the Colony.' M. du Casse made no pretences to withhold, but gave all the assistance in his power. He was an advocate for attacking the City of _San Domingo_. This was the wish of most of the colonists, and perhaps was what would have been of more advantage to _France_ than any other expedition they could have undertaken. But the armament having been prepared principally at private expence, it was reasonable for the contributors to look to their own reimbursement. To attack the City of _San Domingo_ was not approved; other plans were proposed, but _Carthagena_ seems to have been the original object of the projectors of the expedition, and the attack of that city was determined upon. Before the Flibustiers and other colonists embarked, a disagreement happened which had nearly made them refuse altogether to join in the expedition. The officers of De Pointis' fleet had imbibed the sentiments of their Commander respecting the Flibustiers or Buccaneers, and followed the example of his manners towards them. The fleet was lying at _Petit Goave_, and M. de Pointis, giving to himself the title of General of the Armies of _France_ by Sea and by Land in _America_, had placed a guard in a Fort there. M. du Casse, as he had received no orders from _Europe_ to acknowledge any superior within his government, might have considered such an exercise of power to be an encroachment on his authority which it became him to resist; but he acted in this, and in other instances, like a man overawed. The officer of M. de Pointis who commanded the guard on shore, arrested a Flibustier for disorderly behaviour, and held him prisoner in the fort. The Flibustiers surrounded the fort in a tumultuous manner to demand his release, and the officer commanded his men to fire upon them, by which three of the Flibustiers were killed. It required some address and civility on the part of M. de Pointis himself, as well as the assistance of M. du Casse, to appease the Flibustiers; and the officer who had committed the offence was sent on board under arrest. The force furnished from M. du Casse's government, consisted of nearly 700 Flibustiers, 170 soldiers from the garrisons, and as many volunteer inhabitants and negroes as made up about 1200 men. The whole armament consisted of seven large ships, and eleven frigates, besides store ships and smaller vessels; and, reckoning persons of all classes, 6000 men. [Sidenote: April. Siege of Carthagena by the French.] The Fleet arrived off _Carthagena_ on April the 13th, and the landing was effected on the 15th. It is not necessary to relate all the particulars of this siege, in which the Buccaneers bore only a part. That part however was of essential importance. M. de Pointis, in the commencement, appointed the whole of the Flibustiers, without any mixture of the King's troops, to a service of great danger, which raised a suspicion, of partiality and of an intention to save the men he brought with him from _Europe_, as regarding them to be more peculiarly his own men. An eminence about a mile to the Eastward of the City of _Carthagena_, on which was a church named _Nuestra Senora de la Poupa_, commands all the avenues and approaches on the land side to the city. 'I had been assured,' says M. de Pointis, 'that if we did not seize the hill _de la Poupa_ immediately on our arrival, all the treasure would be carried off. To get possession of this post, I resolved to land the Buccaneers in the night of the same day on which we came to anchor, they being proper for such an attempt, as being accustomed to marching and subsisting in the woods.' M. de Pointis takes this occasion to accuse the Buccaneers of behaving less heroically than M. du Casse had boasted they would, and that it was not without murmuring that they embarked in the boats in order to their landing. It is however due to them on the score of courage and exertion, to remark, though in some degree it is anticipation, that no part of the force under M. de Pointis shewed more readiness or performed better service in the siege than the Buccaneers. There was uncertainty about the most proper place for landing, and M. de Pointis went himself in a boat to examine near the shore to the North of the city. The surf rolled in heavy, by which his boat was filled, and was with difficulty saved from being stranded on a rock. The proposed landing was given up as impracticable, and M. de Pointis became of opinion that _Carthagena_ was approachable only by the lake which makes the harbour, the entrance to which, on account of its narrowness, was called the _Bocca-chica_, and was defended by a strong fort. The Fleet sailed for the _Bocca-chica_, and on the 15th some of the ships began to cannonade the Fort. The first landing was effected at the same time by a corps of eighty negroes, without any mixture of the King's troops. This was a second marked instance of the Commander's partial attention to the preservation of the men he brought from _France_. M. de Pointis despised the Flibustiers, and probably regarded negroes as next to nothing. He was glad however to receive them as his companions in arms, and it was an honour due from him to all under his command, as far as circumstances would admit without injury to service, to share the dangers equally, or at least without partiality. The 16th, which was the day next after the landing, the Castle of _Bocca-chica_ surrendered. This was a piece of good fortune much beyond expectation, and was obtained principally by the dexterous management of a small party of the Buccaneers; which drew commendation even from M. de Pointis. 'Among the chiefs of these Buccaneers,' he says, 'there may be about twenty men who deserve to be distinguished for their courage; it not being my intention to comprehend them in the descriptions which I make of the others.' [Sidenote: May. The City capitulates.] De Pointis conducted the siege with diligence and spirit. The _Nuestra Senora de la Poupa_ was taken possession of on the 17th; and on the 3d of May, the City capitulated. The terms of the Capitulation were, That all public effects and office accounts should be delivered to the captors. That merchants should produce their books of accounts, and deliver up all money and effects held by them for their correspondents. That every inhabitant should be free to leave the city, or to remain in his dwelling. That those who retired from the city should first deliver up all their property there to the captors. That those who chose to remain, should declare faithfully, under penalty of entire confiscation, the gold, silver, and jewels, in their possession; on which condition, and delivering up one half, they should be permitted to retain the other half, and afterwards be regarded as subjects of _France_. That the churches and religious houses should be spared and protected. The French General on entering the Town with his troops, went first to the cathedral to attend the _Te Deum_. He next sent for the Superiors of the convents and religious houses, to whom he explained the meaning of the article of the capitulation promising them protection, which was, that their houses should not be destroyed; but that it had no relation to money in their possession, which they were required to deliver up. Otherwise, he observed, it would be in their power to collect in their houses all the riches of the city. He caused it to be publicly rumoured that he was directed by the Court to keep possession of _Carthagena_, and that it would be made a French Colony. To give colour to this report, he appointed M. du Casse to be Governor of the City. He strictly prohibited the troops from entering any house until it had undergone the visitation of officers appointed by himself, some of which officers it was supposed, embezzled not less than 100,000 crowns each. A reward was proclaimed for informers of concealed treasure, of one-tenth of all treasure discovered by them. 'The hope of securing a part, with the fear of bad neighbours and false friends, induced the inhabitants to be forward in disclosing their riches, and Tilleul who was charged with receiving the treasure, was not able to weigh the specie fast enough.' M. du Casse, in the exercise of what he conceived to be the duties of his new office of Governor of _Carthagena_, had begun to take cognizance of the money which the inhabitants brought in according to the capitulation; but M. de Pointis was desirous that he should not be at any trouble on that head. High words passed between them, in consequence of which, Du Casse declined further interference in what was transacting, and retired to a house in the suburbs. This was quitting the field to an antagonist who would not fail to make his advantage of it; whose refusal to admit other witnesses to the receipt of money than those of his own appointment, was a strong indication, whatever contempt he might profess or really feel for the Flibustiers, that he was himself of as stanch Flibustier principles as any one of the gentry of the coast. Some time afterwards, however, M. du Casse thought proper to send a formal representation to the General, that it was nothing more than just that some person of the colony should be present at the receipt of the money. The General returned answer, that what M. du Casse proposed, was in itself a matter perfectly indifferent; but that it would be an insult to his own dignity, and therefore he could not permit it. The public collection of plunder by authority did not save the city from private pillage. In a short time all the plate disappeared from the churches. Houses were forcibly entered by the troops, and as much violence committed as if no capitulation had been granted. M. de Pointis, when complained to by the aggrieved inhabitants, gave orders for the prevention of outrage, but was at no pains to make them observed. It appears that the Flibustiers were most implicated in these disorders. Many of the inhabitants who had complied with the terms of the capitulation, seeing the violences every where committed, hired Flibustiers to be guards in their houses, hoping that by being well paid they would be satisfied and protect them against others. Some observed this compact and were faithful guardians; but the greater number robbed those they undertook to defend. For this among other reasons, De Pointis resolved to rid the city of them. On a report, which it is said himself caused to be spread, that an army of 10,000 Indians were approaching _Carthagena_, he ordered the Flibustiers out to meet them. Without suspecting any deception, they went forth, and were some days absent seeking the reported enemy. As they were on the return, a message met them from the General, purporting, that he apprehended their presence in the city would occasion some disturbance, and he therefore desired them to stop without the gates. On receiving this message, they broke out into imprecations, and resolved not to delay their return to the city, nor to be kept longer in ignorance of what was passing there. When they arrived at the gates they found them shut and guarded by the King's troops. Whilst they deliberated on what they should next do, another message, more conciliating in language than the former, came to them from M. de Pointis, in which he said that it was by no means his intention to interdict them from entering _Carthagena_; that he only wished they would not enter so soon, nor all at one time, for fear of frightening the inhabitants, who greatly dreaded their presence. The Flibustiers knew not how to help themselves, and were necessitated to take up their quarters without the city walls, where they were kept fifteen days, by which time the collection of treasure from the inhabitants was completed, the money weighed, secured in chests, and great part embarked. De Pointis says, 'as fast as the money was brought in, it was immediately carried on board the King's ships.' The uneasiness and impatience of the Flibustiers for distribution of the booty may easily be imagined. On their re-admission to the city, the merchandise was put up to sale by auction, and the produce joined to the former collection; but no distribution took place, and the Flibustiers were loud in their importunities. M. de Pointis assigned as a reason for the delay, that the clerks employed in the business had not made up the accounts. He says in his Narrative, 'I was not so ill served by my spies as not to be informed of the seditious discourses held by some wholly abandoned to their own interest, upon the money being carried on board the King's ships.' To allay the ferment, he ordered considerable gratifications to be paid to the Buccaneer captains, also compensations to the Buccaneers who had been maimed or wounded, and rewards to be given to some who had most distinguished themselves during the siege;--and he spoke with so much appearance of frankness of his intention, as soon as ever he should receive the account of the whole, to make a division which should be satisfactory to all parties, that the Buccaneers were persuaded to remain quiet. [Sidenote: Value of the Plunder.] The value of the plunder is variously reported. Much of the riches of the city had been carried away on the first alarm of the approach of an enemy. De Pointis says 110 mules laden with gold went out in the course of four days. 'Nevertheless, the honour acquired to his Majesty's arms, besides near eight or nine millions that could not escape us, consoled us for the rest.' Whether these eight or nine millions were crowns or livres M. de Pointis' account does not specify. It is not improbable he meant it should be understood as livres. Many were of opinion that the value of the booty was not less than forty millions of livres; M. du Casse estimated it at above twenty millions, besides merchandise. M. de Pointis now made known that on account of the unhealthiness of the situation, he had changed his intention of leaving a garrison and keeping _Carthagena_, for that already more Frenchmen had died there by sickness than he had lost in the siege. He ordered the cannon of the _Bocca-chica Castle_ to be taken on board the ships, and the Castle to be demolished. On the 25th of May, orders were issued for the troops to embark; and at the same time he embarked himself without having given any previous notice of his intention so to do to M. du Casse, from whom he had parted but a few minutes before. The ships of the King's fleet began to take up their anchors to move towards the entrance of the harbour, and M. de. Pointis sent an order to M. du Casse for the Buccaneers and the people of the Colony to embark on board their own vessels. M. du Casse sent two of his principal officers to the General to demand that justice should be done to the Colonists. Still the accounts were said not to be ready; but on the 29th, the King's fleet being ready for sea, M. du Pointis sent to M. du Casse the Commissary's account, which stated the share of the booty due to the Colonists, including the Governor and the Buccaneers, to be 40,000 crowns. What the customary manner of dividing prize money in the French navy was at that time, is not to be understood from the statement given by De Pointis, which says, 'that the King had been pleased to allow to the several ships companies, a tenth of the first million, and a thirtieth part of all the rest.' Here it is not specified whether the million of which the ships companies were to be allowed one-tenth, is to be understood a million of _Louis_, a million crowns, or a million livres. The difference of construction in a large capture would be nearly as three to one. It requires explanation likewise what persons are meant to be included in the term 'ships companies.' Sometimes it is used to signify the common seamen, without including the officers; and for them, the one-tenth is certainly not too large a share. That in any military service, public or private, one-tenth of captures or of plunder should be deemed adequate gratification for the services of all the captors, officers included, seems scarcely credible. In the _Carthagena_ expedition it is also to be observed, that the dues of the crown were in some measure compromised by the admission of private contributions towards defraying the expence. The Flibustiers had contributed by furnishing their own vessels to the service. Du Casse when he saw the account, did not immediately communicate it to his Colonists, deterred at first probably by something like shame, and an apprehension that they would reproach him with weakness for having yielded so much as he had all along done to the insulting and imperious pretensions of De Pointis. Afterwards through discretion, he delayed making the matter public until the Colonists had all embarked and their vessels had sailed from the city. He then sent for the Captains, and acquainted them with the distribution intended by M. de Pointis, and they informed their crews. CHAP. XXVII. _Second Plunder of =Carthagena=. Peace of =Ryswick, in 1697=. Entire Suppression of the =Buccaneers= and =Flibustiers=._ [Sidenote: 1697. May.] The share which M. de Pointis had allotted of the plunder of _Carthagena_ to the Buccaneers, fell so short of their calculations, and was felt as so great an aggravation of the contemptuous treatment they had before received, that their rage was excessive, and in their first transports they proposed to board the Sceptre, a ship of 84 guns, on board which M. de Pointis carried his flag. This was too desperate a scheme to be persevered in. After much deliberation, one among them exclaimed, 'It is useless to trouble ourselves any farther about such a villain as De Pointis; let him go with what he has got; he has left us our share at _Carthagena_, and thither we must return to seek it.' The proposition was received with general applause by these remorseless robbers, whose desire for vengeance on De Pointis was all at once obliterated by the mention of an object that awakened their greediness for plunder. They got their vessels under sail, and stood back to the devoted city, doomed by them to pay the forfeit for the dishonesty of their countryman. The matter was consulted and determined upon without M. du Casse being present, and the ship in which he had embarked was left by the rest without company. When he perceived what they were bent upon, he sent orders to them to desist, which he accompanied with a promise to demand redress for them in _France_; but neither the doubtful prospect of distant redress held out, nor respect for his orders, had any effect in restraining them. M. du Casse sent an officer to M. de Pointis, who had not yet sailed from the entrance of _Carthagena Harbour_, to inform him that the Buccaneers, in defiance of all order and in breach of the capitulation which had been granted to the city, were returning thither to plunder it again; but M. de Pointis in sending the Commissary's account had closed his intercourse with the Buccaneers and with the Colonists, at least for the remainder of his expedition. M. du Casse's officer was told that the General was so ill that he could not be spoken with. The Officer went to the next senior Captain in command of the fleet, who, on being informed of the matter, said, 'the Buccaneers were great rogues, and ought to be hanged;' but as no step could be taken to prevent the mischief, without delaying the sailing of the fleet, the chief commanders of which were impatient to see their booty in a place of greater security, none was taken, and [Sidenote: June.] on the 1st of June the King's fleet sailed for _France_, leaving _Carthagena_ to the discretion of the Buccaneers. M. de Pointis claims being ignorant of what was transacting. 'On the 30th of May,' he says, 'I was taken so ill, that all I could do, before I fell into a condition that deprived me of my intellect, was to acquaint Captain Levi that I committed the care of the squadron to him.' If M. de Pointis acted fairly by the people who came from _France_ and returned with him, it must be supposed that in his sense of right and wrong he held the belief, that 'to rob a rogue is no breach of honesty.' But it was said of him, '_Il etoit capable de former un grand dessein, et de rien epargner pour le faire réussir_;' the English phrase for which is, 'he would stick at nothing.' On the 1st of June, M. du Casse also sailed from _Carthagena_ to return to _St. Domingo_. Thus were the Flibustiers abandoned to their own will by all the authorities whose duty it was to have restrained them. The inhabitants of _Carthagena_ seeing the buccaneer ships returning to the city, waited in the most anxious suspense to learn the cause. The Flibustiers on landing, seized on all the male inhabitants they could lay hold of, and shut them up in the great church. They posted up a kind of manifesto in different parts of the city, setting forth the justice of their second invasion of _Carthagena_, which they grounded on the perfidy of the French General De Pointis ('_que nous vous permettons de charger de toutes les maledictions imaginables_,') and on their own necessities. Finally, they demanded five millions of livres as the price of their departing again without committing disorder. It seems strange that the Buccaneers could expect to raise so much money in a place so recently plundered. Nevertheless, by terrifying their prisoners, putting some to the torture, ransacking the tombs, and other means equally abhorrent, in four days time they had nearly made up the proposed sum. It happened that two Flibustiers killed two women of _Carthagena_ in some manner, or under some circumstances, that gave general offence, and raised indignation in the rest of the Flibustiers, who held a kind of trial and condemned them to be shot, which was done in presence of many of the inhabitants. The Buccaneer histories praise this as an act of extraordinary justice, and a set-off against their cruelties and robberies, such as gained them the esteem even of the Spaniards. The punishment, however merited, was a matter of caprice. It is no where pretended that they ever made a law to themselves to forbid their murdering their prisoners; in very many instances they had not refrained, and in no former instance had it been attended with punishment. The putting these two murderers to death therefore, as it related to themselves, was an arbitrary and lawless act. If the women had been murdered for the purpose of coming at their money, it could not have incurred blame from the rest. These remarks are not intended in disapprobation of the act, which was very well; but too highly extolled. Having almost completed their collection, they began to dispute about the division, the Flibustiers pretending that the more regular settlers of the colony (being but landsmen) were not entitled to an equal share with themselves, when a bark arrived from _Martinico_ which was sent expressly to give them notice that a fleet of English and Dutch ships of war had just arrived in the _West Indies_. This news made them hasten their departure, and shortened or put an end to their disputes; for previous to sailing, they made a division of the gold and silver, in which each man shared nearly a thousand crowns; the merchandise and negroes being reserved for future division, and which it was expected would produce much more. The Commanders of the English and Dutch squadrons, on arriving at _Barbadoes_, learnt that the French had taken _Carthagena_. They sailed on for that place, and had almost reached it, when they got sight of De Pointis' squadron, to which they gave chase, but which escaped from them by superior sailing. [Sidenote: An English and Dutch Squadron fall in with the Buccaneers.] On the 3d or 4th of June, the Flibustiers sailed from _Carthagena_ in nine vessels, and had proceeded thirty leagues of their route towards _Hispaniola_, when they came in sight of the English and Dutch fleet. They dispersed, every one using his best endeavours to save himself by flight. The two richest ships were taken; two were driven on shore and wrecked, one of them near _Carthagena_, and her crew fell into the hands of the Spaniards, who would have been justified in treating them as pirates; but they were only made to work on the fortifications. The five others had the good fortune to reach _Isle Avache_. To conclude the history of the Carthagena expedition, a suit was instituted in _France_ against M. de Pointis and the _armateurs_, in behalf of the Colonists and Flibustiers, and a decree was obtained in their favour for 1,400,000 livres; but the greater part of the sum was swallowed up by the expenses of the suit, and the embezzlements of agents. The Carthagena expedition was the last transaction in which the Flibustiers or Buccaneers made a conspicuous figure. It turned out to their disadvantage in many respects; but chiefly in stripping them of public favour. [Sidenote: September. Peace of Ryswick.] In September 1697, an end was put to the war, by a Treaty signed at _Ryswick_. By this treaty, the part of the Island _St. Christopher_ which had belonged to the French was restored to them. In earlier times, peace, by releasing the Buccaneers from public demands on their services, left them free to pursue their own projects, with an understood license or privilege to cruise or form any other enterprise against the Spaniards, without danger of being subjected to enquiry; but the aspect of affairs in this respect was now greatly altered. [Sidenote: Causes which led to the suppression of the Buccaneers.] The Treaty of 1670 between _Great Britain_ and _Spain_, with the late alliance of those powers against _France_, had put an end to buccaneering in _Jamaica_; the scandal of the second plunder of _Carthagena_ lay heavy on the Flibustiers of _St. Domingo_; and a circumstance in which both _Great Britain_ and _France_ were deeply interested, went yet more strongly to the entire suppression of the cruisings of the Buccaneers, and to the dissolution of their piratical union; which was, the King of _Spain_, Charles the IId. being in a weak state of health, without issue, and the succession to the crown of _Spain_ believed to depend upon his will. On this last account, the kings of _Great Britain_ and _France_ were earnest in their endeavours to give satisfaction to _Spain_. Louis XIV. sent back from _France_ to _Carthagena_ the silver ornaments of which the churches there had been stripped; and distinction was no longer admitted in the French Settlements between Flibustier and Pirate. The Flibustiers themselves had grown tired of preserving the distinction; for after the Peace of _Ryswick_ had been fully notified in the _West Indies_, they continued to seize and plunder the ships of the English and Dutch, till complaint was made to the French Governor of _Saint Domingo_, M. du Casse, who thought proper to make indemnification to the sufferers. Fresh prohibitions and proclamations were issued, and _encouragement_ was given to the adventurers to become planters. The French were desirous to obtain permission to trade in the Spanish ports of the _Terra Firma_. Charlevoix says, 'the Spaniards were charmed by the sending back the ornaments taken from the churches at _Carthagena_, and it was hoped to gain them entirely by putting a stop to the cruisings of the Flibustiers. The commands of the King were strict and precise on this head; that the Governor should persuade the Flibustiers to make themselves inhabitants, and in default of prevailing by persuasion, to use force.' Many Flibustiers and Buccaneers did turn planters, or followed their profession of mariner in the ships of merchants. Attachment to old habits, difficulties in finding employment, and being provided with vessels fit for cruising, made many persist in their former courses. The evil most grievously felt by them was their proscribed state, which left them no place in the _West Indies_ where they might riot with safety and to their liking, in the expenditure of their booty. Not having the same inducement as formerly to limit themselves to the plundering one people, they extended their scope of action, and robbed vessels of all nations. Most of those who were in good vessels, quitted the West Indian Seas, and went roving to different parts of the world. Mention is made of pirates or buccaneers being in the _South Sea_ in the year 1697, but their particular deeds are not related; and Robert Drury, who was shipwrecked at _Madagascar_ in the year 1702, relates, 'King Samuel's messenger then desired to know what they demanded for me? To which, Deaan Crindo sent word that they required two _buccaneer_ guns.' At the time of the Peace of _Ryswick_, the Darien Indians, having quarrelled with the Spaniards, had become reconciled to the Flibustiers, and several of the old Flibustiers afterwards settled on the _Isthmus_ and married Darien women. [Sidenote: Providence Island.] One of the _Lucayas_, or _Bahama Islands_, had been settled by the English, under the name of _Providence Island_. It afforded good anchorage, and the strength of the settlement was small, which were conveniencies to pirates that induced them to frequent it; and, according to the proverbial effect of evil communication, the inhabitants were tempted to partake of their plunder, and assist in their robberies, by purchasing their prize goods, and supplying them with all kinds of stores and necessaries. This was for several years so gainful a business to the Settlement, as to cause it to be proverbial in the _West Indies_; that 'Shipwrecks and Pirates were the only hopes of the _Island Providence_.' [Sidenote: 1700-1. Accession of Philip Vth. to the Throne of Spain.] In three years after the Peace of _Ryswick_, Charles the IId of Spain died, and a Prince of the House of Bourbon mounted the Spanish Throne, which produced a close union of interests between _France_ and _Spain_. The ports of Spanish America, both in the _West Indies_ and in the _South Sea_, were laid open to the merchants of _France_. The _Noticia de las Expediciones al Magalhanes_ notices the great resort of the French to the _Pacific Ocean_, 'who in an extraordinary manner enriched themselves during the war of the Spanish succession.' In the French Settlements in the _West Indies_ the name of Flibustier, because it implied enmity to the Spaniards, was no longer tolerated. On the breaking out of the war between _Great Britain_ and _France_ which followed the Spanish succession, the English drove the French out of _St. Christopher_, and it has since remained wholly to _Great Britain_. M. le Comte de Gennes, a Commander in the French Navy, who a few years before had made an unsuccessful voyage to the _Strait of Magalhanes_, was the Governor of the French part of the Island at the time of the surrender[90]. During this war, the Governors of _Providence_ exercised their authority in granting commissions, or _letters of reprisal_; and created Admiralty Courts, for the _condemnation_ of captured vessels: for under some of the Governors no vessels brought to the adjudication of the Court escaped that sentence. These were indirect acts of piracy. The last achievement related of the Flibustiers, happened in 1702, when a party of Englishmen, having commission from the Governor of _Jamaica_, landed on the _Isthmus_ near the _Samballas Isles_, where they were joined by some of the old Flibustiers who lived among the Darien Indians, and also by 300 of the Indians. They marched to some mines from which they drove the Spaniards, and took 70 negroes. They kept the negroes at work in the mines twenty-one days; but in all this exploit they obtained no more than about eighty pounds weight of gold. Here then terminates the History of the Buccaneers of _America_. Their distinctive mark, which they undeviatingly preserved nearly two centuries, was, their waging constant war against the Spaniards, and against them only. Many peculiarities have been attributed to the Buccaneers in other respects, some of which can apply only to their situation as hunters of cattle, and some existed rather in the writer's fancy than in reality. Mariners are generally credited for being more eccentric in their caprices than other men; which, if true, is to be accounted for by the circumstances of their profession; and it happens that they are most subjected to observation at the times when they are fresh in the possession of liberty and money, earned by long confinement and labour. It may be said of the Buccaneers that they were, in general, courageous according to the character of their leader; often rash, alternately negligent and vigilant, and always addicted to pleasure and idleness. It will help to illustrate the manners and qualifications of the Buccaneers in the _South Sea_, to give an extract from the concluding part of Dampier's manuscript journal of his Voyage round the World with the Buccaneers, and will also establish a fact which has been mentioned before only as a matter surmised[91]. Dampier says, [Sidenote: Extract from Dampier.] 'September the 20th, 1691, arrived in the _Downs_ to my great joy and satisfaction, having in my voyage ran clear round the Globe.--I might have been master of the ship we first sailed in if I would have accepted it, for it was known to most men on board that I kept a Journal, and all that knew me did ever judge my accounts were kept as correct as any man's. Besides, that most, if not all others who kept journals in the voyage, lost them before they got to _Europe_, whereas I preserved my writing. Yet I see that some men are not so well pleased with my account as if it came from any of the Commanders that were in the _South Sea_, though most of them, I think all but Captain Swan, were incapable of keeping a sea journal, and took no account of any action, neither did they make any observations. But I am only to answer for myself, and if I have not given satisfaction to my friends in what I have written, the fault is in the meanness of my information, and not in me who have been faithful as to what came to my knowledge.' Countenanced as the Buccaneers were, it is not in the least surprising that they became so numerous. With the same degree of encouragement at the present time, the Seas would be filled with such adventurers. It was fortunate for the Spaniards, and perhaps for the other maritime Nations of _Europe_, that the Buccaneers did not make conquest and settlement so much their object as they did plunder; and that they took no step towards making themselves independent, whilst it was in their power. Among their Chiefs were some of good capacity; but only two of them, Mansvelt and Morgan, appear to have contemplated any scheme of regular settlement independent of the European Governments, and the time was then gone by. Before _Tortuga_ was taken possession of for the Crown of _France_, such a project might have been undertaken with great advantage. The English and French Buccaneers were then united; _England_ was deeply engaged and fully occupied by a civil war; and the jealousy which the Spaniards entertained of the encroachments of the French in the _West Indies_, kept at a distance all probability of their coalescing to suppress the Buccaneers. If they had chosen at that time to have formed for themselves any regular mode of government, it appears not very improbable that they might have become a powerful independent State. In the history of so much robbery and outrage, the rapacity shewn in some instances by the European Governments in their West-India transactions, and by Governors of their appointment, appears in a worse light than that of the Buccaneers, from whom, they being professed ruffians, nothing better was expected. The superior attainments of Europeans, though they have done much towards their own civilization, chiefly in humanising their institutions, have, in their dealings with the inhabitants of the rest of the globe, with few exceptions, been made the instruments of usurpation and extortion. After the suppression of the Buccaneers, and partly from their relicks, arose a race of pirates of a more desperate cast, so rendered by the increased danger of their occupation, who for a number of years preyed upon the commerce of all nations, till they were hunted down, and, it may be said, exterminated. Of one crew of pirates who were brought before a Court of Justice, fifty-two men were condemned and executed at one time, in the year 1722. FINIS. FOOTNOTES: [1] _Lebreles de pressa._ [2] The name _Saint Domingo_ was afterwards applied to the whole Island by the French, who, whilst they contested the possession with the Spaniards, were desirous to supersede the use of the name _Española_ or _Hispaniola_. [3] _Historia General de las Indias_, por _Gonç. Hernandez de Oviedo_, lib. 19. cap. 13. Also _Hakluyt_, vol. iii. p. 499, edit. 1600. [4] _Camden's Elizabeth_, A. D. 1680. [5] _Hist. des Antilles, par P. du Tertre._ Paris, 1667. Tome I. p. 415. [6] _La Rochefort, sur le Repas des Carribes._ [7] _History of Brasil, by Robert Southey_, p. 17. [8] In some of the English accounts the name is written _Bucanier_; but uniformity in spelling was not much attended to at that time. Dampier wrote _Buccaneer_, which agrees with the present manner of pronouncing the word, and is to be esteemed the best authority. [9] The French account says, that after taking possession of _Tortuga_, the Adventurers divided into three classes: that those who occupied themselves in the chase, took the name of Boucaniers; those who went on cruises, the name of Flibustiers; and a third class, who cultivated the soil, called themselves _Habitans_ (Inhabitants.) See _Histoire des Avanturiers qui se sont signalez dans les Indes. Par. Alex. Ol. Oexmelin_. Paris 1688, vol. i. p. 22. [10] The Governor or Admiral, who granted the commission, claimed one tenth of all prizes made under its authority. [11] It is proper to mention, that an erroneously printed date, in the English edition of the _Buccaneers of America_, occasioned a mistake to be made in the account given of Narbrough's Voyage, respecting the time the Buccaneers kept possession of _Panama_. See Vol. III. of _Voyages and Discoveries in the South Sea_, p. 374. [12] _Theatro Naval Hydrographico._ Cap. xi. See also of Peche, in Vol. III. of _South Sea Voyages and Discoveries_, p. 392. [13] _Not. de las Exp. Magal._ p. 268, of _Ult. Viage al Estrecho_. [14] _Buccaneers of America_, Part III. Ch. xi. [15] 'They never forfeit their word. The King has his commission from the Governor of _Jamaica_, and at every new Governor's arrival, they come over to know his pleasure. The King of the Mosquitos was received by his Grace the Duke of Portland (Governor of _Jamaica_, A. D. 1722-3) with that courtesy which was natural to him, and with more ceremony than seemed to be due to a Monarch who held his sovereignty by commission.'--'The Mosquito Indians had a victory over the Spanish Indians about 30 years ago, and cut off a number; but gave a Negro who was with them, his life purely on account of his speaking English.' _History of Jamaica._ London 1774. Book i. Ch, 12. And _British Empire in America_, Vol. II. pp. 367 & 371. [16] _Case of His Majesty's Subjects upon the Mosquito Shore, most humbly submitted_, &c. London, 1789. [17] _Narrative by Basil Ringrose_, p. 5. [18] _De Rochfort_ describes this animal under the name _Javaris_. _Hist. Nat. des Isles Antilles_, p. 138, edit. 1665. It is also described by _Pennant_, in his _Synopsis of Quadrupeds_, Art. _Mexican Wild Hog_. [19] _Ringrose._ _Buccaneers of America_, Part IV. p. 10. The early morning drum has, in our time, been called the _Reveiller_. Either that or _a travailler_ seems applicable; for according to _Boyer_, _travailler_ signifies to trouble, or disturb, as well as to work; and it is probable, from the age of the authority above cited, that the original term was _à travailler_. [20] _Narrative by Basil Ringrose_, p. 3. [21] _Ringrose_, p. 11. [22] _Ringrose_, Chap. ix. [23] No. 48 in the same collection is a manuscript copy of Ringrose's Journal, but varied in the same manner from the Original as the printed Narrative. [24] _Ringrose_, p. 44. [25] _Ringrose_ and _Sharp_. [26] _Sharp's Journal_, p. 72. [27] _Buccaneers of America_, Part III, p. 80. [28] Nos. 239. and 44. in the _Sloane Collection of Manuscripts_ in the _British Museum_, are probably the charts and translation spoken of above. No. 239. is a book of Spanish charts of the sea-coast of _New Spain_, _Peru_, and _Chili_, each chart containing a small portion of coast, on which is drawn a rude likeness of the appearance of the land, making it at the same time both landscape and chart. They are generally without compass, latitude, or divisions of any kind by lines, and with no appearance of correctness, but apparently with knowledge of the coast.--No. 44. is a copy of the same, or of similar Spanish charts of the same coast, and is dedicated to King Charles II. by Bartholomew Sharp. [29] _Sharp's Manuscript Journal. Brit. Mus._ [30] Morgan continued in office at _Jamaica_ during the remainder of the reign of King Charles the IId.; but was suspected by the Spaniards of connivance with the Buccaneers, and in the next reign, the Court of _Spain_ had influence to procure his being sent home prisoner from the _West Indies_. He was kept three years in prison; but without charge being brought forward against him. [31] _British Empire in America_, Vol. II. p. 319. [32] _Dampier_, Vol. I, p. 73. [33] In the Sloane Collection, _Brit. Mus._ [34] _Cowley's MS. Journal. Sloane Collection_, No. 54. [35] See also _Pernety's Journal_, p. 179, English translation. [36] _Dampier's Manuscript Journal_, No. 3236, _Sloane Collection, British Museum_. [37] The writer of Commodore Anson's Voyage informs us that Juan Fernandez resided some time on the Island, and afterwards abandoned it. [38] _Dampier's Voyages_, Vol. I, Chap. 5. [39] The latter part of the above extract is from Cowley's Manuscript.--Captain Colnet when at the _Galapagos_ made a similar remark. He says, 'I was perplexed to form a conjecture how the small birds which appeared to remain in one spot, supported themselves without water; but some of our men informed me that as they were reposing beneath a prickly pear-tree, they observed an old bird in the act of supplying three young ones with drink, by squeezing the berry of a tree into their mouths. It was about the size of a pea, and contained a watery juice of an acid and not unpleasant taste. The bark of the tree yields moisture, and being eaten allays the thirst. The land tortoise gnaw and suck it. The leaf of this tree is like that of the bay-tree, the fruit grows like cherries; the juice of the bark dies the flesh of a deep purple.' _Colnet's Voyage to the South Sea_, p. 53. [40] _Dampier_, Vol. I, p. 112. [41] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 5. This description does not agree with the Spanish Charts; but no complete regular survey appears yet to have been made of the Coast of _New Spain_. [42] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 5. [43] _Ibid._ [44] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 6. [45] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 6. To search for this wreck with a view to recover the treasure in her, was one of the objects of an expedition from _England_ to the _South Sea_, which was made a few years subsequent to this Buccaneer expedition. [46] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 6. [47] _Manuscript Journal in the Sloane Collection._ [48] See _Cowley's Voyage_, p. 34. Also, Vol. III. of _South Sea Discoveries_, p. 305. [49] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 6. [50] Dampier. [51] _Wafer's Voyages_, p. 196. [52] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 7. [53] _Journal du Voyage au Mer du Sud, par Rav. de Lussan_, p. 25. [54] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 8. [55] _Dampier._ [56] _Voyage and Description_, &c. _by Lionel Wafer_, p. 191, and seq. London, 1699. [57] _Dampier. Manuscript Journal._ [58] _Wafer's Voyages_, p. 208. [59] _Colnet's Voyage to the Pacific_, pp. 156-7. [60] _Journal of a Cruize to the Pacific Ocean, by Captain David Porter, in the years 1812-13 & 1814._ [61] _Cruising Voyage round the World, by Captain Woodes Rogers, in the years 1708 to 1711_, pp. 211 and 265, 2d edition. London, 1718. [62] _Wafer's Voyages_, p. 214 & seq. [63] _Dampier_, Vol. I. Chap. 13, p. 352. [64] _Wafer's Voyages_, p. 220. [65] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 8. [66] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 9. [67] Late Observations place _Acapulco_ in latitude 16° 50' 41'' N, and longitude 100° 0' West of _Greenwich_. [68] _Dampier._ [69] See Chart in Spilbergen's Voyage. [70] _Dampier's Manuscript Journal._ [71] _Dampier_, Vol. I, p. 257. [72] In some old manuscript Spanish Charts, the _Chametly Isles_ are laid down SE-1/2S about 12 leagues distant from _Cape Corrientes_. [73] According to Captain Vancouver, _Point Ponteque_ and _Cape Corrientes_ are nearly North and South of each other. Dampier was nearest in-shore. [74] The Manuscript says, the farthest of the _Chametlan Isles_ from the main-land is not more than four miles distant. [75] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 9. [76] _Manuscript Journal._ [77] Dampier's Reckoning made the difference of longitude between _Cape Corrientes_ and the _Island Guahan_, 125 degrees; which is 16 degrees more than it has been found by modern observations. [78] _Dampier._ _Manuscript Journal_, and Vol. I, Chap. 10. of his printed Voyages. [79] The Ladrone flying proa described in Commodore Anson's voyage, sailed with the belly or rounded side and its small canoe to windward; by which it appears that these proas were occasionally managed either way, probably according to the strength of the wind; the little parallel boat or canoe preserving the large one upright by its weight when to windward, and by its buoyancy when to leeward. [80] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 11. [81] _Dampier_, Vol. I, Chap. 14. The long Island is named _Basseelan_ in the charts; but the shape there given it does not agree well with Dampier's description. [82] M. de Surville in 1769, and much more lately Captain A. Murray of the English E. I. Company's Service, found the South end of _Monmouth Island_ to be in 20° 17' N. [83] _Manuscript Journal._ [84] In the printed Voyage, the shoal is mistakenly said to lie SbW from the East end of _Timor_. The Manuscript Journal, and the track of the ship as marked in the charts to the 1st volume of _Dampier's Voyages_, agree in making the place of the shoal SbW from the West end of _Timor_; whence they had last taken their departure, and from which their reckoning was kept. [85] _A Voyage by Edward Cooke_, Vol. I, p. 371. London, 1712. [86] _Raveneau de Lussan_, p. 117. [87] _'Ce moyen êtoit a la verité un peu violent, mais c'etoit l'unique pour mettre les Espagnols à la raison.'_ [88] _Theatro Naval._ fol. 61, 1. [89] _Relation du Voyage de M. de Gennes_, p. 106. Paris, 1698. [90] Père Labat relates a story of a ridiculous effort in mechanical ingenuity, in which M. de Gennes succeeded whilst he was Governor at _Saint Christopher_. 'He made an Automaton in the likeness of a soldier, which marched and performed sundry actions. It was jocosely said that M. de Gennes might have defended his government with troops of his own making. His automaton soldier eat victuals placed before it, which he digested, by means of a dissolvent,'--_P. Labat_, Vol. V. p. 349. [91] See p. 207, near the bottom. * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Illustrations have been moved. Some sidenotes have been moved, separated or merged. Some repetitive sidenotes have been deleted. The following changes were made in the transcription of this work: to settle what constitues[constitutes] occupancy. recommended to King Ferdinand to recal[recall] Ovando. Pere[Père] Labat describes first cruisers againt[against] the Spaniards were English ['Camoes de Gama': Macron on e in Camoes is now omitted.] Vattel has decribed[described] this case. during a time of peace betwen[between] apppearance[appearance] of the land and was no[not] otherwise clad than the rest of his sqadron[squadron] The fruit is like the sea chesnut[chestnut] The same kind of maoeuvring[manoeuvring] of the _S[ta] Maria de l'Aguada_ and it was in[an] honour due from him who granted the commisson[commission] at _Saint Christopher_. [']He made an Automaton by means of a dissolvent,[']--_P. Labat_, [oe ligatures: ligature now omitted.] * * * * * 
34317	----	============================================================== This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License, http://creativecommons.org/ ============================================================== [Illustration: Cover art] CARIBBEE Barbados, 1648. The lush and deadly Caribbean paradise, domain of rebels and freeholders, of brigands, bawds and buccaneers. CARIBBEE is the untold story of the first American revolution, as English colonists pen a Declaration of _Defiance_ ("liberty" or "death") against Parliament and fight a full-scale war for freedom against an English fleet--with cannon, militia, many lives lost--over a century before 1776. An assured, literate saga, the novel is brimming with the rough and tumble characters who populated the early American colonies. The powerful story line, based on actual events, also puts the reader in the midst of the first major English slave auction in the Americas, and the first slave revolt. We see how plantation slavery was introduced into the English colonies, setting a cruel model for North America a few decades later, and we experience what it was like to be a West African ripped from a rich culture and forced to slave in the fields of the New World. We also see the unleashed greed of the early Puritans, who burned unruly slaves alive, a far different truth from that presented in sanitized history books. Finally, we witness how slavery contributed to the failure of the first American revolution, as well as to the destruction of England's hope for a vast New World empire. We also are present at the birth of the buccaneers, one-time cattle hunters who banded together to revenge a bloody Spanish attack on their home, and soon became the most feared marauders in the New World. The story is mythic in scope, with the main participants being classic American archetypes--a retelling of the great American quest for freedom and honor. The major characters are based on real individuals, men and women who came West to the New World to seek fortune and personal dignity. Publisher's Weekly said, "This action-crammed, historically factual novel . . . is a rousing read about the bad old marauding days, ably researched by Hoover." "ACTION-CRAMMED, HISTORICALLY FACTUAL ... A ROUSING READ" -PUBLISHERS WEEKLY "METICULOUS . . . COMPELLING" --KIRKUS REVIEWS "IT SHOULD ESTABLISH THOMAS HOOVER IN THE FRONT RANK OF WRITERS OF HISTORICAL FICTION" --MALCOLM BOSSE author of THE WARLORD BOOKS BY THOMAS HOOVER Nonfiction Zen Culture The Zen Experience Fiction The Moghul Caribbee Wall Street _Samurai_ (The _Samurai_ Strategy) Project Daedalus Project Cyclops Life Blood Syndrome All free as e-books at www.thomashoover.info ZEBRA BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 475 Park Avenue South New York, NY 10016 Copyright © 1985 by Thomas Hoover. Published by arrangement with Doubleday and Co., Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. First Zebra Books Printing: December 1987 Printed in the United States of America Key Words: Author: Thomas Hoover Title: Caribbee Slavery, slaves, Caribbean, sugar, buccaneers, pirates, Barbados, Jamaica, Spanish Gold, Spanish Empire, Port Royal, Barbados www.thomashoover.info [Illustration: Map of The West Indies in the Seventeenth Century] AUTHOR'S NOTE By the middle of the seventeenth century, almost a hundred thousand English men and women had settled in the New World. We sometimes forget that the largest colony across the Atlantic in those early years was not in Virginia, not in New England, but on the small eastern islands of the Caribbean, called the Caribbees. Early existence in the Caribbean was brutal, and at first these immigrants struggled merely to survive. Then, through an act of international espionage, they stole a secret industrial process from the Catholic countries that gave them the key to unimagined wealth. The scheme these pious Puritans used to realize their earthly fortune required that they also install a special new attitude: only certain peoples may claim full humanity. Their profits bequeathed a mortgage to America of untold future costs. The Caribbean shown here was a dumping ground for outcasts and adventurers from many nations, truly a cockpit of violence, greed, drunkenness, piracy, and voodoo. Even so, its English colonists penned a declaration of independence and fought a revolutionary war with their homeland over a hundred years before the North American settlements. Had they respected the rights of mankind to the same degree they espoused them, the face of modern America might have been very different. The men and women in this story include many actual and composite individuals, and its scope is faithful to the larger events of that age, though time has been compressed somewhat to allow a continuous narrative. To Liberty and Justice for all. The Caribbean 1638 The men had six canoes in all, wide tree trunks hollowed out by burning away the heart, Indian style. They carried axes and long-barreled muskets, and all save one were bare to the waist, with breeches and boots patched together from uncured hides. By profession they were roving hunters, forest incarnations of an older world, and their backs and bearded faces, earth brown from the sun, were smeared with pig fat to repel the swarms of tropical insects. After launching from their settlement at Tortuga, off northern Hispaniola, they headed toward a chain of tiny islands sprawling across the approach to the Windward Passage, route of the Spanish _galeones_ inbound for Veracruz. Their destination was the easterly cape of the Grand Caicos, a known Spanish stopover, where the yearly fleet always put in to re-provision after its long Atlantic voyage. Preparations began as soon as they waded ashore. First they beached the dugouts and camouflaged them with leafy brush. Next they axed down several trees in a grove back away from the water, chopped them into short green logs, and dragged these down to the shore to assemble a pyre. Finally, they patched together banana leaf _ajoupa_ huts in the cleared area. Experienced woodsmen, they knew well how to live off the land while waiting. The first day passed with nothing. Through a cloudless sky the sun scorched the empty sand for long hours, then dropped into the vacant sea. That night lightning played across thunderheads towering above the main island, and around midnight their _ajoupas_ were soaked by rain. Then, in the first light of the morning, while dense fog still mantled the shallow banks to the west, they spotted a ship. It was a single frigate, small enough that there would be only a handful of cannon on the upper deck. Jacques le Basque, the dense-bearded bear of a man who was their leader, declared in his guttural French that this was a historic moment, one to be savored, and passed a dark onion-flask of brandy among the men. Now would begin their long-planned campaign of revenge against the Spaniards, whose infantry from Santo Domingo had once burned out their settlement, murdered innocents. It was, he said, the start of a new life for them all. All that remained was to bait the trap. Two of the hunters retrieved a bucket of fat from the _ajoupas _and ladled it onto the green firewood. Another scattered the flask's remaining liquor over the top of the wood, then dashed it against a heavy log for luck. Finally, while the men carefully checked the prime on their broad-gauge hunting muskets, le Basque struck a flint to the pyre. The green wood sputtered indecisively, then crackled alive, sending a gray plume skyward through the damp morning air. Jacques circled the fire triumphantly, his dark eyes reflecting back the blaze, before ordering the men to ready their dugouts in the brushy camouflage along the shore. As they moved to comply, he caught the sleeve of a young Englishman who was with them and beckoned him back. "Anglais, _attendez ici_. I want you here beside me. The first shot must count." The young man had been part of their band for almost five years and was agreed to be their best marksman, no slight honor among men who lived by stalking wild cattle in the forest. Unlike the others he carried no musket this morning, only a long flintlock pistol wedged into his belt. In the flickering light, he looked scarcely more than twenty, his face not yet showing the hard desperation of the others. His hair was sandy rust and neatly trimmed; and he alone among them wore no animal hides-- his doublet was clearly an English cut, though some years out of fashion, and his sweat-soiled breeches had once been fine canvas. Even his boots, now weathered and cracked from salt, might years before have belonged to a young cavalier in Covent Garden. He moved to help Jacques stoke the fire and pile on more green limbs. Though the blaze and its plume should have been easily visible to the passing frigate by now, the sleepy lookout seemed almost to fail to notice. The ship had all but passed them by before garbled shouts from its maintop finally sounded over the foggy waters. Next came a jumble of orders from the quarterdeck, and moments later the vessel veered, its bow turning into the wind, the mainsail quickly being trimmed. As it steered into the bay, Jacques slapped at the buzzing gnats around them and yelled out a Spanish plea that they were marooned seamen, near death. As he examined the frigate through the morning fog, he grunted to himself that she was small, barely a hundred tons, scarcely the rich prize they'd braved the wide Caribbean in dugouts for. But now a longboat had been launched, and two seamen in white shirts and loose blue caps were rowing a young mate toward the pair of shadowy figures huddled against the smoky pyre at the shore. Le Basque laughed quietly and said something in a growl of French about allowing the ship's officers to die quickly, to reward their hospitality. The younger man wasn't listening. Through the half-light he was carefully studying the longboat. Now he could make out the caps of the seamen, woolen stockings loosely flopping to the side. Then he looked back at the ship, seamen perched in its rigging to stare, and thought he heard fragments of a familiar tongue drifting muffled over the swells. Next a crowd of passengers appeared at the taffrail, led by a well-to-do family in ruffs and taffetas. They weren't Spanish. They couldn't be. The man wore a plumed hat and long curls that reached almost to his velvet doublet, London fashions obvious at hundreds of yards. The woman, a trifle stout, had a tight yellow bodice and long silk cape, her hair tied back. Between them was a girl, perhaps twelve, with long chestnut ringlets. He examined the rake of the ship once more, to make doubly sure, then turned to Jacques. "That ship's English. Look at her. Boxy waist. Short taffrail. Doubtless a merchantman out of Virginia, bound for Nevis or Barbados." He paused when he realized Jacques was not responsive. Finally he continued, his voice louder. "I tell you there'll be nothing on her worth having. Wood staves, candle wax, a little salt fish. I know what they lade." Jacques looked back at the ship, unconcerned. "_Cela n'a pas d'importance_. Anglais. There'll be provisions. We have to take her." "But no silver. There's no English coin out here in the Americas, never has been. And who knows what could happen? Let some ordnance be set off, or somebody fire her, and we run the risk of alerting the whole Spanish fleet." Now le Basque shrugged, pretending to only half understand the English, and responded in his hard French. "Taking her's best. If she truly be Anglaise then we'll keep her and use her ourselves." He grinned, showing a row of blackened teeth. "And have the women for sport. I'll even give you the pretty little one there by the rail, Anglais, for your _petite amie_." He studied the ship again and laughed. "She's not yet work for a man." The younger man stared at him blankly for a moment, feeling his face go chill. Behind him, in the brush, he heard arguments rising up between the English hunters and the French over what to do. During his years with them they had killed wild bulls by the score, but never another Englishman. "Jacques, we're not Spaniards. This is not going to be our way." He barely heard his own words. Surely, he told himself, we have to act honorably. That was the unwritten code in the New World, where men made their own laws. "Anglais, I regret to say you sadden me somewhat." Le Basque was turning, mechanically. "I once thought you had the will to be one of us. But now . . ." His hand had slipped upward, a slight motion almost invisible in the flickering shadows. But by the time it reached his gun, the young man's long flintlock was already drawn and leveled. "Jacques, I told you no." The dull click of a misfire sounded across the morning mist. By now le Basque's own pistol was in his hand, primed and cocked, a part of him. Its flare opened a path through the dark between them. But the young Englishman was already moving, driven by purest rage. He dropped to his side with a twist, an arm stretching for the fire. Then his fingers touched what he sought, and closed about the glassy neck of the shattered flask. It seared his hand, but in his fury he paid no heed. The ragged edges sparkled against the flames as he found his footing, rising as the wide arc of his swing pulled him forward. Le Basque stumbled backward to avoid the glass, growling a French oath as he sprawled across a stack of green brush. An instant later the pile of burning logs suddenly crackled and sputtered, throwing a shower of sparks. Then again. God help them, the young man thought, they're firing from the longboat. They must assume . . . He turned to shout a warning seaward, but his voice was drowned in the eruption of gunfire from the camouflage along the shore. The three seamen in the boat jerked backward, all still gripping their smoking muskets, then splashed into the bay. Empty, the craft veered sideways and in moments was drifting languorously back out to sea. Many times in later years he tried to recall precisely what had happened next, but the events always merged, a blur of gunfire. As he dashed for the surf, trailed by le Basque's curses, the dugouts began moving out, muskets spitting random flashes. He looked up to see the stout woman at the rail of the frigate brush at her face, then slump sideways into her startled husband's arms. He remembered too that he was already swimming, stroking toward the empty boat, when the first round of cannon fire from the ship sounded over the bay, its roar muffled by the water against his face. Then he saw a second cannon flare . . . and watched the lead canoe dissolve into spray and splinters. The others were already turning back, abandoning the attack, when he grasped the slippery gunwale of the longboat, his only hope to reach the ship. As he strained against the swell, he became dimly aware the firing had stopped. Memories of the last part were the most confused. Still seething with anger, he had slowly pulled himself over the side, then rolled onto the bloodstained planking. Beside him lay an English wool cap, its maker's name still lettered on the side. One oar rattled against its lock. The other was gone. He remembered glancing up to see seamen in the ship's rigging begin to swivel the yards, a sign she was coming about. Then the mainsail snapped down and bellied against a sudden gust. Damn them. Wait for me. Only a hundred yards separated them now, as the longboat continued to drift seaward. It seemed a hundred yards, though for years afterward he wondered if perhaps it might have been even less. What he did remember clearly was wrenching the oar from the lock and turning to begin paddling toward the ship. That was when the plume of spray erupted in front of him. As he tumbled backward he heard the unmistakable report of the ship's sternchaser cannon. He could never recollect if he had actually called out to them. He did remember crouching against the gunwale, listening to the volleys of musket fire from seamen along the ship's taffrail. Several rounds of heavy lead shot had torn through the side of the longboat, sending splinters against his face. When he looked out again, the frigate was hoisting her lateen sail, ready to run for open sea. The line of musketmen was still poised along the rail, waiting. Beside them was the family: the man was hovering above the stout woman, now laid along the deck, and with him was the girl. Only then did he notice the heat against his cheek, the warm blood from the bullet cut. He glanced back at the fire, even more regretful he hadn't killed Jacques le Basque. Someday, he told himself, he would settle the score. His anger was matched only by his disgust with the English. Only one person on the ship seemed to question what had happened. The girl looked down at the woman for a long, sad moment, then glanced back, her tresses splayed in the morning wind. His last memory, before he lapsed into unconsciousness, was her upraised hand, as though in farewell. TEN YEARS LATER . . . Book One BARBADOS Chapter One No sooner had their carriage creaked to a halt at the edge of the crowd than a tumult of cheers sounded through the humid morning air. With a wry glance toward the man seated opposite, Katherine Bedford drew back the faded curtains at the window and craned to see over the cluster of planters at the water's edge, garbed in their usual ragged jerkins, gray cotton breeches, and wide, sweat-stained hats. Across the bay, edging into view just beyond the rocky cliff of Lookout Point, were the tattered, patched sails of the _Zeelander_, a Dutch trader well known to Barbados. "It's just rounding the Point now." Her voice was hard, with more than a trace of contempt. "From here you'd scarcely know what their cargo was. It looks the same as always." As she squinted into the light, a shaft of Caribbean sun candled her deep-blue eyes. Her long ringlet curls were drawn back and secured with a tiara of Spanish pearls, a halfhearted attempt at demureness spoiled by the nonchalant strands dangling across her forehead. The dark tan on her face betrayed her devotion to the sea and the sun; although twenty- three years of life had ripened her body, her high cheeks had none of the plump, anemic pallor so prized in English women. "Aye, but this time she's very different, Katy, make no mistake. Nothing in the Americas will ever be the same again. Not after today." Governor Dalby Bedford was across from her in the close, airless carriage, angrily gripping the silver knob of his cane. Finally he bent forward to look too, and for a moment their faces were framed side by side. The likeness could scarcely have been greater: not only did they share the same intense eyes, there was a similar high forehead and determined chin. "Damned to them. It's a shameful morning for us all." "Just the same, you've got to go down and be there." Though she despised the thought as much as he did, she realized he had no choice. The planters all knew Dalby Bedford had opposed the plan from the beginning, had argued with the Council for weeks before arrangements were finally made with the Dutch shippers. But the vote had gone against him, and now he had to honor it accordingly. While he sat watching the Zeelander make a starboard tack, coming about to enter the bay, Katherine leaned across the seat and pulled aside the opposite curtain. The hot wind that suddenly stirred past was a sultry harbinger of the coastal breeze now sweeping up the hillside, where field after identical field was lined with rows of tall, leafy stalks, green and iridescent in the sun. The new Barbados is already here, she thought gloomily. The best thing now is to face it. Without a word she straightened her tight, sweaty bodice, gathered her wrinkled skirt, and opened the carriage door. She waved aside the straw parasol that James, their Irish servant and footman, tried to urge on her and stepped into the harsh midday sun. Dalby Bedford nodded at the crowd, then climbed down after. He was tall and, unlike his careless daughter, always groomed to perfection. Today he wore a tan waistcoat trimmed with wide brown lace and a white cravat that matched the heron-feather plume in his wide- brimmed hat. Over the years, the name of Dalby Bedford had become a byword for freedom in the Americas: under his hand Barbados had been made a democracy, and virtually independent of England. First he had convinced the king's proprietor to reduce rents on the island, then he had created an elected Assembly of small freeholders to counter the high-handed rule of the powerful Council. He had won every battle, until this one. Katherine moved through the crowd of black-hatted planters as it parted before them. Through the shimmering glare of the sand she could just make out the commanding form of Anthony Walrond farther down by the shore, together with his younger brother Jeremy. Like hundreds of other royalists, they had been deported to Barbados in the aftermath of England's Civil War. Now Anthony spotted their carriage and started up the incline toward them, and for an instant she found herself wishing she'd thought to wear a more fashionable bodice. "Your servant, sir." A gruff greeting, aimed toward Dalby Bedford, disrupted her thoughts. She looked back to see a heavyset planter riding his horse directly through the crowd, with the insistent air of a man who demands deference. Swinging down from his wheezing mount, he tossed the reins to the servant who had ridden with him and began to shove his way forward, fanning his open gray doublet against the heat. Close to fifty and owner of the largest plantation on the island, Benjamin Briggs was head of the Council, that governing body of original settlers appointed years before by the island's proprietor in London. His sagging, leathery face was formidable testimony to twenty years of hard work and even harder drink. The planters on the Council had presided over Barbados' transformation from a tropical rain forest to a patchwork of tobacco and cotton plantations, and now to what they hoped would soon be a factory producing white gold. Briggs pushed back his dusty hat and turned to squint approvingly as the frigate began furling its mainsail in preparation to drop anchor. "God be praised, we're almost there. The years of starvation are soon to be over." Katherine noted that she had not been included in his greeting. She had once spoken her mind to Benjamin Briggs concerning his treatment of his indentures more frankly than he cared to hear. Even now, looking at him, she was still amazed that a man once a small Bristol importer had risen to so much power in the Americas. Part of that success, she knew, derived from his practice of lending money to hard-pressed freeholders at generous rates but short terms, then foreclosing on their lands the moment the sight bills came due. "It's an evil precedent for the English settlements, mark my word." Bedford gazed back toward the ship. He and Benjamin Briggs had been sworn enemies from the day he first proposed establishing the Assembly. "I tell you again it'll open the way for fear and divisiveness throughout the Americas." "It's our last chance for prosperity, sir. All else has failed," Briggs responded testily. "I know it and so do you." Before the governor could reply, Anthony Walrond was joining them. "Your servant, sir." He touched his plumed hat toward Dalby Bedford, conspicuously ignoring Briggs as he merged into their circle, Jeremy at his heel. Anthony Walrond was thirty-five and the most accomplished, aristocratic man Katherine had ever met, besides her father. His lean, elegant face was punctuated by an eye-patch, worn with the pride of an epaulette, that came from a sword wound in the bloody royalist defeat at Marston Moor. After he had invested and lost a small fortune in support of the king's failed cause, he had been exiled to Barbados, his ancestral estate sequestrated by Parliament. She still found herself incredulous that he had, only four weeks earlier, offered marriage. Why, she puzzled, had he proposed the match? He was landed, worldly, and had distinguished himself during the war. She had none of his style and polish. . . . "Katherine, your most obedient." He bowed lightly, then stood back to examine her affectionately. She was a bit brash, it was true, and a trifle--well, more than a trifle--forward for her sex. But underneath her blunt, seemingly impulsive way he sensed a powerful will. She wasn't afraid to act on her convictions, and the world be damned. So let her ride her mare about the island daylong now if she chose; there was breeding about her that merely wanted some refinement. "Sir, your servant." Katherine curtsied lightly and repressed a smile. No one knew she had quietly invited Anthony Walrond riding just two weeks earlier. The destination she had picked was a deserted little islet just off the windward coast, where they could be alone. Propriety, she told herself, was all very well, but marrying a man for life was no slight matter. Anthony Walrond, it turned out, had promise of being all she could want. He reflected on the memory of that afternoon for a moment himself, delighted, then turned back to the governor with as solemn an air as he could manage. "I suppose this island'll soon be more in debt than ever to the Hollanders. I think it's time we started giving English shippers a chance, now that it's likely to be worth their bother." "Aye, doubtless you'd like that." Briggs flared. "I know you still own a piece of a London trading company. You and that pack of English merchants would be pleased to charge us double the shipping rates the Hollanders do. Damn the lot of you. Those of us who've been here from the start know we should all be on our knees, thankin' heaven for the Dutchmen. The English settlements in the Americas would've starved years ago if it hadn't been for them." He paused to spit onto the sand, just beside Anthony's gleaming boots. "Let English bottoms compete with the Dutchmen, not wave the flag." "Your servant, Katherine." Jeremy Walrond had moved beside her, touching his plumed hat as he nodded. A cloud of perfume hovered about him, and his dark moustache was waxed to perfection. Though he had just turned twenty, his handsome face was still boyish, with scarcely a hint of sun. "Your most obedient." She nodded lightly in return, trying to appear formal. Over the past year she had come to adore Jeremy as though he were a younger brother, even though she knew he despised the wildness of Barbados as much as she gloried in it. He was used to pampering and yearned to be back in England. He also longed to be thought a man; longed, in truth, to be just like Anthony, save he didn't know quite how. They all stood awkwardly for a moment, each wondering what the ship would signify for their own future and that of the island. Katherine feared that for her it would mean the end of Barbados' few remaining forests, hidden groves upland where she could ride alone and think. Cultivated land was suddenly so valuable that all trees would soon vanish. It was the last anyone would see of an island part untamed and free. Depressed once more by the prospect, she turned and stared down the shore, toward the collection of clapboard taverns clustered around the narrow bridge at the river mouth. Adjacent to the taverns was a makeshift assemblage of tobacco sheds, open shops, and bawdy houses, which taken together had become known as Bridgetown. The largest "town" on Barbados, it was now all but empty. Everyone, even the tavern keepers and Irish whores, had come out to watch. Then, through the brilliant sunshine she spotted an unexpected pair, ambling slowly along the water's edge. The woman was well known to the island--Joan Fuller, the yellow-haired proprietor of its most successful brothel. But the man? Whatever else, he was certainly no freeholder. For one thing, no Puritan planter would be seen in public with Mistress Fuller. The stranger was gesturing at the ship and mumbling unhappily to her as they walked. Abruptly she reached up to pinch his cheek, as though to dispel his mood. He glanced down and fondly swiped at her tangled yellow hair, then bade her farewell, turned, and began moving toward them. "God's life, don't tell me he's come back." Briggs first noticed the stranger when he was already halfway through the crowd. He sucked in his breath and whirled to survey the line of Dutch merchantmen anchored in the shallows along the shore. Nothing. But farther down, near the careenage at the river mouth, a battered frigate rode at anchor. The ship bore no flag, but the word _Defiance _was crudely lettered across the stern. "Aye, word has it he put in this morning at first light." Edward Bayes, a black-hatted Council member with ruddy jowls, was squinting against the sun. "What're you thinking we'd best do?" Briggs seemed to ignore the question as he began pushing his way through the crowd. The newcomer was fully half a head taller than most of the planters, and unlike everyone else he wore no hat, leaving his rust-colored hair to blow in the wind. He was dressed in a worn leather jerkin, dark canvas breeches, and sea boots weathered from long use. He might have passed for an ordinary seaman had it not been for the two Spanish flintlock pistols, freshly polished and gleaming, that protruded from his wide belt. "Your servant, Captain." Briggs' greeting was correct and formal, but the man returned it with only a slight, distracted nod. "Back to see what the Hollanders've brought?" "I'm afraid I already know what they're shipping. I picked a hell of a day to come back." The stranger rubbed absently at a long scar across one cheek, then continued, as though to himself, "Damn me, I should have guessed all along this would be the way." The crowd had fallen silent to listen, and Katherine could make out that his accent was that of a gentleman, even if his dress clearly was not. His easy stride suggested he was little more than thirty, but the squint that framed his brown eyes made his face years older. By his looks and the uneasy shuffle of the Council members gathered around them, she suddenly began to suspect who he might be. "Katy, who the devil?" Jeremy had lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say that's probably the smuggler you claim robbed you once." Scarce wonder Briggs is nervous, she thought. Every planter on the shore knows exactly why he's come back. "Hugh Winston? Is that him?" Jeremy glared at the newcomer, his eyes hardening. "You can't mean it. He'd not have the brass to show his face on English soil." "He's been here before. I've just never actually seen him. You always seem to keep forgetting, Jeremy, Barbados isn't part of England." She glanced back. "Surely you heard what he did. It happened just before you came out." She gestured toward the green hillsides. "He's the one we have to thank for all this. I fancy he's made Briggs and the rest of them rich, for all the good it'll ever do him." "What he's done, if you must know, is make a profession of stealing from honest men. Damned to their cane. He's scarcely better than a thief. Do you know exactly what he did?" "You mean that business about your frigate?" "The eighty-tonner of ours that grounded on the reefs up by Nevis Island. He's the one who set our men ashore--then announced he was taking the cargo in payment. Rolls of wool broadcloth worth almost three thousand pounds sterling. And several crates of new flintlock muskets. He smuggled the cloth into Virginia, sold it for nothing, and ruined the market for months. He'd be hanged if he tried walking the streets of London, I swear it. Doesn't anybody here know that?" She tried to recall what she did know. The story heard most often was that he'd begun his career at sea on a Dutch merchantman. Then, so word had it, he'd gone out on his own. According to tales that went around the Caribbees, he'd pulled together a band of some dozen runaway indentures and one night somehow managed to sail a small shallop into the harbor at Santo Domingo. He sailed out before dawn at the helm of a two-hundred-ton Spanish square-rigger. After some heavy refitting, it became the _Defiance_. "They probably know he robbed you, Jeremy, but I truly doubt whether they care all that much." "What do you mean?" "He's the one Benjamin Briggs and the others hired to take them down to Brazil and back." That voyage had later become a legend in the English Caribbees. Its objective was a plantation just outside the city of Pemambuco--capital of the new territory in Brazil the Dutch had just seized from the Portuguese. There the Barbados' Council had deciphered the closely guarded process Brazilian plantations used to refine sugar from cane sap. Thanks to the friendly Dutch, and Hugh Winston, Englishmen had finally cracked the centuries-old sugar monopoly of Portugal and Spain. "You mean he's the same one who helped them get that load of cane for planting, and the plans for Briggs' sugar mill?" Jeremy examined the stranger again. "Exactly. He also brought back something else for Briggs." She smiled. "Can you guess?" Jeremy flushed and carefully smoothed his new moustache. "I suppose you're referring to that Portuguese mulatto wench he bought to be his bed warmer." Yes, she thought, Hugh Winston's dangerous voyage, outsailing several Spanish patrols, had been an all-round success. And everybody on the island knew the terms he had demanded. Sight bills from the Council, all co-signed at his insistence by Benjamin Briggs, in the sum of two thousand pounds sterling, payable in twenty-four months. "Well, sir"--Briggs smiled at Winston as he thumbed toward the approaching ship--"this is the cargo we'll be wanting now, if we're to finish converting this place to sugar. You could be of help to us again if you'd choose. This is where the future'll be, depend on it." "I made one mistake, helping this island." Winston glanced at the ship and his eyes were momentarily pained. "I don't plan to make another." Then he turned and stared past the crowd, toward the green fields patch-worked against the hillsides inland. "But I see your cane prospered well enough. When do we talk?" "Why any time you will, sir. We've not forgotten our debts." Briggs forced another smile. "We'll have a tankard on it, right after the auction." He turned and motioned toward a red-faced Irishman standing behind him, wearing straw shoes and a long gray shirt. "Farrell, a moment of your valuable time." "Yor Worship." Timothy Farrell, one of Briggs' many indentured servants, bowed sullenly as he came forward, then doffed his straw hat, squinting against the sun. His voice still carried the musical lilt of his native Kinsale, where he had been offered the choice, not necessarily easy, between prison for debt and indentured labor in sweltering Barbados. He had finally elected Barbados when informed, falsely, that he would receive a grant of five acres of land after his term of servitude expired--a practice long since abandoned. Katherine watched as Briggs flipped him a small brass coin. "Fetch a flask of kill-devil from the tavern up by the bridge. And have it here when I get back." Kill-devil was bought from Dutch shippers, who procured it from Brazilian plantations, where it was brewed using wastes from their sugar-works. The Portuguese there employed it as a cheap tonic to rout the "devil" thought to possess African slaves at the end of a long day and render them sluggish. It retailed handily as a beverage in the English settlements of the Americas, however, sometimes being marketed under the more dignified name of "rumbullion," or "rum." Briggs watched as Farrell sauntered off down the shore. "That's what we'll soon hear the last of. A lazy Papist, like half the lot that's being sent out nowadays." He turned to study the weathered Dutch frigate as it eased into the sandy shallows and the anchor chain began to rattle down the side. "But we've got good workers at last. By Jesus, we've found the answer." Katherine watched the planters secure their hats against a sudden breeze and begin pushing toward the shore. Even Anthony and Jeremy went with them. The only man who held back was Hugh Winston, still standing there in his worn-out leather jerkin. He seemed reluctant to budge. Maybe, she thought, he doesn't want to confront it. As well he shouldn't. We've got him to thank for this. After a moment he glanced back and began to examine her with open curiosity, his eyes playing over her face, then her tight bodice. Finally he shifted one of the pistols in his belt, turned, and began strolling down the sloping sand toward the bay. Well, damn his cheek. All along she had planned to go down herself, to see firsthand what an auction would be like, but at that instant the shifting breeze brought a sudden stench from the direction of the ship. She hesitated, a rare moment of indecision, before turning back toward the carriage. This, she now realized, marked the start of something she wanted no part of. Moving slowly toward the shore, Winston found himself puzzling over the arch young woman who had been with Governor Bedford. Doubtless she was the daughter you heard so much about, though from her dress you'd scarcely guess it. But she had an open way about her you didn't see much in a woman. Plenty of spirit there . . . and doubtless a handful for the man who ever got her onto a mattress. Forget it, he told himself, you've enough to think about today. Starting with the _Zeelander_. And her cargo. The sight of that three-masted fluyt brought back so many places and times. Brazil, Rotterdam, Virginia, even Barbados. Her captain Johan Ruyters had changed his life, that day the _Zeelander_ hailed his bullet-riddled longboat adrift in the Windward Passage. Winston had lost track of the time a bit now, but not of the term Ruyters had made him serve in return for the rescue. Three years, three miserable years of short rations, doubled watches, and no pay. Back when he served on the _Zeelander_ her cargo had been mostly brown muscavado sugar, ferried home to Rotterdam from Holland's newly captive plantations in Brazil. But there had been a change in the world since then. The Dutch had seized a string of Portuguese trading fortresses along the coast of West Africa. Now, at last, they had access to a commodity far more profitable than sugar. He reflected on Ruyters' first axiom of successful trade: sell what's in demand. And if there's no demand for what you've got, make it. New sugar plantations would provide the surest market of all for what the Dutch now had to sell. So in the spring of 1642 Ruyters had left a few bales of Brazilian sugarcane with Benjamin Briggs, then a struggling tobacco planter on Barbados, suggesting that he try growing it and refining sugar from the sap, explaining the Portuguese process as best he could. It had been a night over two years past, at Joan's place, when Briggs described what had happened after that. "The cane grew well enough, aye, and I managed to press out enough of the sap to try rendering it to sugar. But nothing else worked. I tried boiling it in pots and then letting it sit, but what I got was scarcely more than molasses and mud. It's not as simple as I thought." Then he had unfolded his new scheme. "But if you'll take some of us on the Council down to Brazil, sir, the Dutchmen claim they'll let us see how the Portugals do it. We'll soon know as much about sugar-making as any Papist. There'll be a fine fortune in it, I promise you, for all of us." But how, he'd asked Briggs, did they expect to manage all the work of cutting the cane? "These indentures, sir. We've got thousands of them." He'd finally agreed to accept the Council's proposition. And the _Defiance _was ideal for the run. Once an old Spanish cargo vessel, he'd disguised her by chopping away the high fo'c'sle, removing the pilot's cabin, and lowering the quarterdeck. Next he'd re-rigged her, opened more gunports in the hull, and installed new cannon. Now she was a heavily armed fighting brig and swift. Good God, he thought, how could I have failed to see? It had to come to this; there was no other way. So maybe it's time I did something my own way for a change. Yes, by God, maybe there's an answer to all this. He thought again of the sight bills, now locked in the Great Cabin of the _Defiance_ and payable in one week. Two thousand pounds. It would be a miracle if the Council could find the coin to settle the debt, but they did have something he needed. And either way, Master Briggs, I intend to have satisfaction, or I may just take your balls for a bell buoy. Now a white shallop was being lowered over the gunwales of the _Zeelander_, followed by oarsmen. Then after a measured pause a new figure, wearing the high collar and wide-brimmed hat of Holland's merchant class, appeared at the railing. His plump face was punctuated with a goatee, and his smile was visible all the way to the shore. He stood a long moment, dramatically surveying the low-lying hills of Barbados, and then Captain Johan Ruyters began lowering himself down the swaying rope ladder. As the shallop nosed through the surf and eased into the sandy shallows, Dalby Bedford moved to the front of the receiving delegation, giving no hint how bitterly he had opposed the arrangement Briggs and the Council had made with the Dutch shippers. "Your servant, Captain." "Your most obedient servant, sir." Ruyters' English was heavily accented but otherwise flawless. Winston recalled he could speak five languages as smoothly as oil, and shortchange the fastest broker in twice that many currencies. "It is a fine day for Barbados." "How went the voyage?" Briggs asked, stepping forward and thrusting out his hand, which Ruyters took readily, though with a wary gathering of his eyebrows. "A fair wind, taken for all. Seventy-four days and only some fifteen percent wastage of the cargo. Not a bad figure for the passage, though still enough to make us friends of the sharks. But I've nearly three hundred left, all prime." "Are they strapping?" Briggs peered toward the ship, and his tone sharpened slighdy, signaling that social pleasantries were not to be confused with commerce. "Remember we'll be wantin' them for the fields, not for the kitchen." "None stronger in the whole west of Africa. These are not from the Windward Coast, mark you, where I grant what you get is fit mostly for house duty. I took half this load from Cape Verde, on the Guinea coast, and then sailed on down to Benin, by the Niger River delta, for the rest. These Nigers make the strongest field workers. There is even a chief amongst them, a Yoruba warrior. I've seen a few of these Yoruba Nigers in Brazil, and I can tell you this one could have the wits to make you a first-class gang driver." Ruyters shaded his eyes against the sun and lowered his voice. "In truth, I made a special accommodation with the agent selling him, which is how I got so many hardy ones. Usually I have to take a string of mixed quality, which I get with a few kegs of gunpowder for the chiefs and maybe some iron, together with a few beads and such for their wives. But I had to barter five chests of muskets and a hundred strings of their cowrie-shell money for this Yoruba. After that, though, I got the pick of his boys." Ruyters stopped and peered past the planters for a second, his face mirroring disbelief. Then he grinned broadly and shoved through the crowd, extending his hand toward Winston. "By the blood of Christ. I thought sure you'd be hanged by now. How long has it been? Six years? Seven?" He laughed and pumped Winston's hand vigorously, then his voice sobered. "Not here to spy on the trade I hope? I'd best beware or you're like to be eyeing my cargo next." "You can have it." Winston extracted his hand, reflecting with chagrin that he himself had been the instrument of what was about to occur. "What say, now?" Ruyters smiled to mask his relief. "Aye, but to be sure this is an easy business." He turned back to the planters as he continued. "It never fails to amaze me how ready their own people are to sell them. They spy your sail when you're several leagues at sea and build a smoke fire on the coast to let you know they've got cargo." He reached for Dalby Bedford's arm, to usher him toward the waiting boat. Anthony Walrond said something quietly to Jeremy, then followed after the governor. Following on their heels was Benjamin Briggs, who tightened his belt as he waded through the shallows. Ruyters did not fail to notice when several of the oarsmen smiled and nodded toward Winston. He was still remembered as the best first mate the _Zeelander_ had ever had--and the only seaman anyone had ever seen who could toss a florin into the air and drill it with a pistol ball better than half the time. Finally the Dutch captain turned back, beckoning. "It'd be an honor if you would join us, sir. As long as you don't try taking any of my lads with you." Winston hesitated a moment, then stepped into the boat as it began to draw away from the shore. Around them other small craft were being untied, and the planters jostled together as they waded through the light surf and began to climb over the gunwales. Soon a small, motley flotilla was making its way toward the ship. As Winston studied the _Zeelander_, he couldn't help recalling how welcome she had looked that sun-baked afternoon ten years past. In his thirsty delirium her billowing sails had seemed the wings of an angel of mercy. But she was not angelic today. She was dilapidated now, with runny patches of tar and oakum dotting her from bow to stern. By converting her into a slaver, he knew, Ruyters had discovered a prudent way to make the most of her last years. As they eased into the shadow of her leeward side, Winston realized something else had changed. The entire ship now smelled of human excrement. He waited till Ruyters led the planters, headed by Dalby Bedford and Benjamin Briggs, up the salt-stiff rope ladder, then followed after. The decks were dingy and warped, and there was a haggard look in the men's eyes he didn't recall from before. Profit comes at a price, he thought, even for quick Dutch traders. Ruyters barked an order to his quartermaster, and moments later the main hatch was opened. Immediately the stifling air around the frigate was filled with a chorus of low moans from the decks below. Winston felt Briggs seize his arm and heard a hoarse whisper. "Take a look and see how it's done. It's said the Dutchmen have learned the secret of how best to pack them." "I already know how a slaver's cargoed." He pulled back his arm and thought again of the Dutch slave ships that had been anchored in the harbor at Pernambuco. "A slave's chained on his back, on a shelf, for the whole of the voyage, if he lives that long." He pointed toward the hold. "Why not go on down and have a look for yourself?" Briggs frowned and turned to watch as the quartermaster yelled orders to several seamen, all shirtless and squinting in the sun, who cursed under their breath as they began reluctantly to make their way down the companionway to the lower deck. The air in the darkened hold was almost unbreathable. The clank of chains began, and Winston found himself drawn against his will to the open hatchway to watch. As the cargo was unchained from iron loops fastened to the side of the ship, their manacled hands were looped through a heavy line the seamen passed along the length of the lower deck. Slowly, shakily, the first string of men began to emerge from the hold. Their feet and hands were still secured with individual chains, and all were naked. As each struggled up from the hold, he would stare into the blinding sun for a confused moment, as though to gain bearings, then turn in bewilderment to gaze at the green beyond, so like and yet so alien from the African coast. Finally, seeing the planters, he would stretch to cover his groin with manacled hands, the hesitation prompting a Dutch seaman to lash him forward. The Africans' black skin shone in the sun, the result of a forced diet of cod liver oil the last week of the voyage. Then too, there had been a quick splash with seawater on the decks below, followed by swabbing with palm oil, when the _Zeelander's _maintopman had sighted the low green peaks of Barbados rising out of the sea. They seemed stronger than might have been expected, the effect of a remedial diet of salt fish the last three days of the voyage. "Well, sir, what think you of the cargo?" Ruyters' face was aglow. Winston winced. "Better your vessel than mine." "But it's no great matter to ship these Africans. The truth is we don't really even have to keep them fettered once we pass sight of land, since they're too terrified to revolt. We feed them twice a day with meal boiled up into a mush, and every other day or so we give them some English horsebeans, which they seem to favor. Sometimes we even bring them up topside to feed, whilst we splash down the decks below." He smiled and swept the assembled bodies with his eyes. "That's why we have so little wastage. Not like the Spaniards or Portugals, who can easily lose a quarter or more to shark feed through overpacking and giving them seawater to drink. But I'll warrant the English'll try to squeeze all the profit they can one day, when your ships take up the trade, and then you'll doubtless see wastage high as the Papists have." "English merchants'll never take up the slave trade." Ruyters gave a chuckle. "Aye but that they will, as I'm a Christian, and soon enough too." He glanced in the direction of Anthony Walrond. "Your London shippers'll take up anything we do that shows a florin's profit. But we'll give you a run for it." He turned back to Briggs. "What say you, sir? Are they to your liking?" "I take it they're a mix? Like we ordered?" "Wouldn't load them any other way. There's a goodly batch of Yoruba, granted, but the rest are everything from Ibo and Ashanti to Mandingo. There's little chance they'll be plotting any revolts. Half of them are likely blood enemies of the other half." The first mate lashed the line forward with a cat-o'-nine-tails, positioning them along the scuppers. At the head was a tall man whose alert eyes were already studying the forested center of the island. Winston examined him for a moment, recalling the haughty Yoruba slaves he had seen in Brazil. "Is that the chief you spoke of?" Ruyters glanced at the man a moment. "They mostly look the same to me, but aye, I think that's the one. Prince Atiba, I believe they called him. A Niger and pure Yoruba." "He'll never be made a slave." "Won't he now? You'll find the cat can work wonders." Ruyters turned and took the cat-o'-nine-tails from the mate. "He'll jump just like the rest." With a quick flick he lashed it against the African's back. The man stood unmoving, without even a blink. He drew back and struck him a second time, now harder. The Yoruba's jaw tightened visibly but he still did not flinch. As Ruyters drew back for a third blow, Winston reached to stay his arm. "Enough. Take care or he may prove a better man than you'd wish to show." Before Ruyters could respond, Briggs moved to begin the negotiations. "What terms are you offering, sir?" "Like we agreed." Ruyters turned back. "A quarter now, with sight bills for another quarter in six months and the balance on terms in a year." "Paid in bales of tobacco at standing rates? Or sugar, assuming we've got it then?" "I've yet to see two gold pieces keeping company together on the whole of the island." He snorted. "I suppose it'll have to be. What do you say to the usual exchange rate?" "I say we can begin. Let's start with the best, and not trouble with the bidding candle yet. I'll offer you a full twenty pounds for the first one there." Briggs pointed at the Yoruba. The Dutch captain examined him in disbelief. "This is not some indentured Irishman, sir. This is a robust field hand you'll own for life. And he has all the looks of a good breeder. My conscience wouldn't let me entertain a farthing under forty." "Would you take some of my acres too? Is there no profit to be had in him?" "These Africans'll pay themselves out for you in one good year, two at the most. Just like they do in Brazil." Ruyters smiled. "And this is the very one that cost me a fortune in muskets. It's only because I know you for a gentleman that I'd even think of offering him on such easy terms. He's plainly the pick of the string." Winston turned away and gazed toward the shore. The price would be thirty pounds. He knew Ruyters' bargaining practices all too well. The sight of the Zeelander's decks sickened him almost as much as the slaves. He wanted to get to sea again, to leave Barbados and its greedy Puritans far behind. But this time, he told himself, you're the one who needs them. Just a little longer and there'll be a reckoning. And after that, Barbados can be damned. "Thirty pounds then, and may God forgive me." Ruyters was slapping Briggs genially on the shoulder. "But you'll be needing a lot more for the acres you want to cut. Why not take the rest of this string at a flat twenty-five pounds the head, and make an end on it? It'll spare both of us time." "Twenty-five!" "Make it twenty then." Ruyters lowered his voice. "But not a shilling under, God is my witness." "By my life, you're a conniving Moor, passing himself as a Dutchman." Briggs mopped his brow. "It's time for the candle, sir. They're scarcely all of the same quality." "I'll grant you. Some should fetch well above twenty. I ventured the offer thinking a gentleman of your discernment might grasp a bargain when he saw it. But as you will." He turned and spoke quickly to his quartermaster, a short, surly seaman who had been with the Zeelander almost as long as Ruyters. The officer disappeared toward the Great Cabin and returned moments later with several long white candles, marked with rings at one-inch intervals. He fitted one into a holder and lit the wick. "We'll begin with the next one in the string." Ruyters pointed to a stout, gray-bearded man. "Gentlemen, what am I bid?" "Twelve pounds." "Fifteen." "Fifteen pounds ten." "Sixteen." As Winston watched the bidding, he found his gaze drifting more and more to the Yoruba Briggs had just purchased. The man was meeting his stare now, eye to eye, almost a challenge. There were three small scars lined down one cheek--the clan marks Yoruba warriors were said to wear to prevent inadvertently killing another clan member in battle. He was naked and in chains, but he held himself like a born aristocrat. "Eighteen and ten." Briggs was eyeing the flickering candle as he yelled the bid. At that moment the first dark ring disappeared. "The last bid on the candle was Mr. Benjamin Briggs." Ruyters turned to his quartermaster, who was holding an open account book, quill pen in hand. "At eighteen pounds ten shillings. Mark it and let's get on with the next one." Winston moved slowly back toward the main deck, studying the first Yoruba more carefully now--the glistening skin that seemed to stretch over ripples of muscle. And the quick eyes, seeing everything. What a fighting man he'd make. He'd snap your neck while you were still reaching for your pistol. It could've been a big mistake not to try and get him. But then what? How'd you make him understand anything? Unless . . . He remembered that some of the Yoruba in Brazil, still fresh off the slave ships, already spoke Portuguese. Learned from the traders who'd worked the African coast for . . . God only knows how long. The Portugals in Brazil always claimed you could never tell about a Yoruba. They were like Moors, sharp as tacks. His curiosity growing, he edged next to the man, still attempting to hold his eyes, then decided to try him. "_Fala portugues_?" Atiba started in surprise, shot a quick glance toward the crowd of whites, then turned away, as though he hadn't heard. Winston moved closer and lowered his voice. "_Fala portugues, senhor_?" After a long moment he turned back and examined Winston. "_Sim. Suficiente_." His whisper was almost buried in the din of bidding. He paused a moment, then continued, in barely audible Portuguese. "How many of my people will you try to buy, _senhor_?" "Only free men serve under my command.' "Then you have saved yourself the loss of many strings of money shells,_ senhor_. The _branco _here may have escaped our sword for now. But they have placed themselves in our scabbard." He looked back toward the shore. "Before the next rainy season comes, you will see us put on the skin of the leopard. I swear to you in the name of Ogun, god of war." Chapter Two Joan Fuller sighed and gently eased herself out of the clammy feather bed, unsure why she felt so oddly listless. Like as not it was the patter of the noonday shower, now in full force, gusting through the open jalousies in its daily drenching of the tavern's rear quarters. A shower was supposed to be cooling, so why did she always feel hotter and more miserable afterwards? Even now, threads of sweat lined down between her full breasts, inside the curve of each long leg. She moved quietly to the window and one by one began tilting the louvres upward, hoping to shut out some of the salty mist. Day in and day out, the same pattern. First the harsh sun, then the rain, then the sun again. Mind you, it had brought to life all those new rows of sugar cane marshalled down the hillsides, raising hope the planters might eventually settle their accounts in something besides weedy tobacco. But money mattered so little anymore. Time, that's the commodity no purse on earth could buy. And the Barbados sun and rain, day after day, were like a heartless cadence marking time's theft of the only thing a woman had truly worth holding on to. The tropical sun and salt air would be telling enough on the face of some girl of twenty, but for a woman all but thirty--well, in God's own truth some nine years past--it was ruination. Still, there it was, every morning, like a knife come to etch deeper those telltale lines at the corners of her eyes. And after she'd frayed her plain brown hair coloring it with yellow dye, hoping to bring out a bit of the sparkle in her hazel eyes, she could count on the harsh salt wind to finish turning it to straw. God damn miserable Barbados. As if there weren't bother enough, now Hugh was back, the whoremaster, half ready to carry on as though he'd never been gone. When you both knew the past was past. But why not just make the most of whatever happens . . . and time be damned. She turned and glanced back toward the bed. He was awake now too, propped up on one elbow, groggily watching. For a moment she thought she might have disturbed him getting up--in years past he used to grumble about that--but then she caught the look in his eyes. What the pox. In truth it wasn't always so bad, having him back now and again. . . . Slowly her focus strayed to the dark hair on his chest, the part not lightened to rust by the sun, and she realized she was the one who wanted him. This minute. But she never hinted that to Hugh Winston. She never gave him the least encouragement. She kept the whoreson off balance, else he'd lose interest. After you got to know him the way she did, you realized Hugh fancied the chase. As she started to look away, he smiled and beckoned her over. Just like she'd figured . . . She adjusted the other shutters, then took her own sweet time strolling back. Almost as though he weren't even there. Then she casually settled onto the bed, letting him see the fine profile of her breasts, and just happening to drape one long leg where he could manage to touch it. But now she was beginning to be of two minds. God's life, it was too damned hot, Hugh or no. He ignored her ankle and, for some reason, reached out and silently drew one of his long brown fingers down her cheek. Very slowly. She stifled a shiver, reminding herself she'd had quite enough of men in general, and Hugh Winston in particular, to do a lifetime. But, still . . . Before she realized it, he'd lifted back her yellow hair and kissed her deeply on the mouth. Suddenly it was all she could manage, keeping her hands on the mattress. Then he faltered, mumbled something about the heat, and plopped back onto the sweat-soaked sheet. Well, God damn him too. She studied his face again, wondering why he seemed so distracted this trip. It wasn't like Hugh to let things get under his skin. Though admittedly affairs were going poorly for him now, mainly because of the damned Civil War in England. Since he didn't trouble about taxes, he'd always undersold English shippers. But after the war had disrupted things so much, the American settlements were wide open to the cut-rate Hollanders, who could sell and ship cheaper than anybody alive. These days the Butterboxes were everywhere; you could look out the window and see a dozen Dutch merchantmen anchored right in Carlisle Bay. Ever since that trip for the Council he'd been busy running whatever he could get between Virginia and some other place he hadn't said--yet he had scarcely a shilling to show for his time. Why else would he have paid that flock of shiftless runaways he called a crew with the last of his savings? She knew it was all he had, and he'd just handed it over for them to drink and whore away. When would he learn? And if you're thinking you'll collect on the Council's sight bills, dear heart, you'd best think again. Master Benjamin Briggs and the rest of that shifty lot could hold school for learned scholars on the topic of stalling obligations. He was doubtless too proud to own it straight out, but he needn't trouble. She already knew. Hugh Winston, her lover in times past and still the only friend she had worth the bother, was down to his last farthing. She sighed, telling herself she knew full well what it was like. God's wounds, did she know what it was like. Back when Hugh Winston was still in his first and only term at Oxford, the son of one Lord Harold Winston, before he'd been apprenticed and then sent packing out to the Caribbees, Joan Fuller was already an orphan. The hardest place you could be one. On the cobblestone streets of Billingsgate, City of London. That's where you think you're in luck to hire out in some household for a few pennies a week, with a hag of a mistress who despises you for no more cause than you're young and pretty. Of course you steal a little at first, not too much or she'd see, but then you remember the master, who idles about the place in his greasy nightshirt half the day, and who starts taking notice after you let the gouty old whoremaster know you'd be willing to earn something extra. Finally the mistress starts to suspect--the bloodhounds always do after a while--and soon enough you're back on the cobblestones. But you know a lot more now. So if you're half clever you'll take what you've put by and have some proper dresses made up, bright colored with ruffled petticoats, and a few hats with silk ribands. Then you pay down on a furnished lodging in Covent Garden, the first floor even though it's more than all the rest of the house. Soon you've got lots of regulars, and then eventually you make acquaintance of a certain gentleman of means who wants a pert young thing all to himself, on alternate afternoons. It lasts for going on two years, till you decide you're weary to death of the kept life. So you count up what's set by-- and realize it's enough to hire passage out to Barbados. Which someone once told you was supposed to be paradise after London, and you, like a fool, believed it. But which you discover quick enough is just a damned sweltering version of hell. You're here now though, so you take what little money's left and find yourself some girls, Irish ones who've served out their time as indentures, despise having to work, and can't wait to take up the old life, same as before they came out. And finally you can forget all about what it was like being a penniless orphan. Trouble is, you also realize you're not so young anymore. "Would you fancy some Hollander cheese, love? The purser from the _Zeelander _lifted a tub for me and there's still a bit left. And I'll warrant there's cassava bread in back, still warm from morning." She knew Hugh always called for the local bread, the hard patties baked from the powdered cassava root, rather than that from the stale, weevily flour shipped out from London. He ran a finger contemplatively across her breasts--now they at least were still round and firm as any strutting Irish wench half her age could boast--then dropped his legs off the side of the bed and began to search for his boots. "I could do with a tankard of sack." The very brass of him! When he'd come back half drunk in the middle of the night, ranting about floggings or some such and waving a bottle of kill-devil. He'd climbed into bed, had his way, and promptly passed out. So instead of acting like he owned the place, he could bloody well supply an explanation. "So how did it go yesterday?" She held her voice even, a purr. "With that business on the _Zeelander_?" That wasn't the point she actually had in mind. If it hadn't been so damned hot, she'd have nailed him straight out. Something along the lines of "And where in bloody hell were you till all hours?" Or maybe "Why is't you think you can have whatever you want, the minute you want it?" That was the enquiry the situation called for. "You missed a fine entertainment." His tone of voice told her he probably meant just the opposite. "You're sayin' the sale went well for the Dutchmen?" She watched him shrug, then readied herself to monitor him sharply. "And after that I expect you were off drinking with the Council." She flashed a look of mock disapproval. "Doubtless passing yourself for a fine gentleman, as always?" "I am a gentleman." He laughed and swung at her with a muddy boot, just missing as she sprang from the bed. "I just rarely trouble to own it." "Aye, you're a gentleman, to be sure. And by that thinking I'm a virgin still, since I was doubtless that once too." "So I've heard you claim. But that was back well before my time." "You had rare fortune, darlin'. You got the rewards of years of expertise." She reached to pull on her brown linen shift. "And I suppose you'll be telling me next that Master Briggs and the Council can scarcely wait to settle your sight bills." "They'll settle them in a fortnight, one way or another, or damned to them." He reached for his breeches, not the fancy ones he wore once in a while around the Council, but the canvas ones he used aboard ship, and the tone of his voice changed. "I just hope things stay on an even keel till then." "I don't catch your meaning." She studied him openly, wondering if that meant he was already planning to leave. "The planters' new purchase." He'd finished with the trousers and was busy with his belt. "Half of them are Yoruba." "And, pray, what's that?" She'd thought he was going to explain more on the bit about leaving. "I think they're a people from somewhere down around the Niger River delta." "The Africans, you mean?" She examined him, still puzzled. "The slaves?" "You've hit on it. The slaves. Like a fool, I didn't see it coming, but it's here, all right. May God curse Ruyters. Now I realize this is what he planned all along, the bastard, when he started telling everybody how they could get rich with cane. Save none of these Puritans knows the first thing about working Africans. He's sold them a powder keg with these Yoruba." He rose and started for the door leading into the front room of the tavern. "And they're doing all they can to spark the fuse." "What're you tryin' to say?" She was watching him walk, something that still pleased her after all the years. But she kept on seeming to listen. When Hugh took something in his head, you'd best let him carry on about it for a time. "They're proud and I've got a feeling they're not going to take this treatment." He turned back to look at her, finally reading her confusion. "I've seen plenty of Yoruba over the years in Brazil, and I can tell you the Papists have learned to handle them differently. They're fast and they're smart. Some of them even come off the boat already knowing Portugee. I also found out that at least one of those Ruyters sold to Briggs can speak it." "Is that such a bad thing? It'd seem to me . . ." "What I'm saying is, now that they're here, they've got to be treated like men. You can't starve them and horsewhip them the way you can Irish indentures. I've got a strong feeling they'll not abide it for long." He moved restlessly into the front room, a wood-floored space of rickety pine tables and wobbly straight chairs, plopping down by the front doorway, his gaze fixed on the misty outline of the river bridge. "I went on out to Briggs' plantation last night, thinking to talk over a certain little matter, but instead I got treated to a show of how he plans to break in his slaves. The first thing he did was flog one of his new Yoruba when he balked at eating loblolly corn mush. That's going to make for big trouble, mark it." She studied him now and finally realized how worked up he was. Hugh usually noticed everything, yet he'd walked straight through the room without returning the groggy nods of his men, two French mates and his quartermaster John Mewes--the latter now gaming at three-handed whist with Salt-Beef Peg and Buttock-de-Clink Jenny, her two newest Irish girls. She knew for sure Peg had noticed him, and that little sixpenny tart bloody well knew better than to breathe a word in front of her mistress. "Well, settle down a bit." She opened the cabinet and took out an onion-flask of sack, together with two tankards. "Tell me where you're thinking you'll be going next." She dropped into the chair opposite and began uncorking the bottle. "Or am I to expect you and the lads'll be staying a while in Barbados this time?" He laughed. "Well now, am I supposed to think it's me you're thinking about? Or is it you're just worried we might ship out while one of the lads still has a shilling left somewhere or other?" She briefly considered hoisting the bottle she'd just fetched and cracking it over his skull, but instead she shot him a frown and turned toward the bleary-eyed gathering at the whist table. "John, did you ever hear the likes of this one, by my life? He'd have the lot of you drink and play for free." John Mewes, a Bristol seaman who had joined Hugh years ago after jumping ship at Nevis Island, stared up groggily from his game, then glanced back at his shrinking pile of coins--shrinking as Salt-Beef Peg's had grown. His weathered cheeks were lined from drink, and, as always, his ragged hair was matted against his scalp and the jerkin covering his wide belly was stained brown with spilled grog. Inexplicably, women doted on him in taverns the length of the Caribbean. "Aye, yor ladyship, it may soon have to be. This bawd of yours is near to takin' my last shilling, before she's scarce troubled liftin' her skirts to earn it." He took another swallow of kill-devil from his tankard, then looked imploringly toward Winston. "On my honor, Cap'n, by the look of it I'm apt to be poor as a country parson by noontide tomorrow." "But you're stayin' all this week with me, John." Peg was around the table and on his lap in an instant, her soft brown eyes aglow. "A promise to a lady always has to be kept. Else you'll lose your luck." "Then shall I be havin' your full measure for the coin of love? It's near to all that's left, I'll take an oath on it. My purse's shriveled as the Pope's balls." "For love?" Peg rose. "And I suppose I'm to be livin' on this counterfeit you call love. Whilst you're off plyin' your sweet talk to some stinkin' Dutch whore over on the Wild Coast." "The damned Hollander wenches are all too sottish by half. They'd swill a man's grog faster'n he can call for it." He took another pull from his tankard and glanced admiringly at Peg's bulging, half-laced bodice. "But I say deal the cards, m'lady. Where there's life, there's hope, as I'm a Christian." "And what was it you were saying, love?" Joan turned back to Winston and poured another splash into his tankard. "I think it was something to do with the new slaves?" "I said I don't like it, and I just might try doing something about it. I just hope there's no trouble here in the meantime." His voice slowly trailed off into the din of the rain. This bother about the slaves was not a bit like him, Joan thought. Hugh'd never been out to right all the world's many ills. Besides, what did he expect? God's wounds, the planters were going to squeeze every shilling they could out of these new Africans. Everybody knew the Caribbees and all the Americas were "beyond the line," outside the demarcation on some map somewhere that separated Europe from the New World. Out here the rules were different. Hugh had always understood that better than anybody, so why was he so out of sorts now that the planters had found a replacement for their lazy indentures? Heaven can tell, he had wrongs enough of his own to brood about if he wanted to trouble his mind over life's little misfortunes. "What is it really that's occupying your mind so much this trip, love? It can't just be these new slaves. I know you too well for that." She studied him. "Is't the sight bills?" "I've been thinking about an idea I've had for a long, long time. Seeing what's happened now on Barbados, it all fits together somehow." "What're you talking about?" "I'm wondering if maybe it's not time I tried changing a few things." This was definitely a new Hugh. He never talked like that in the old days. Back then all he ever troubled about was how he was going to manage making a living--a problem he still hadn't worked out, if you want the honest truth. She looked at him now, suddenly so changed, and recollected the first time she ever saw him. It was a full seven years past, just after she'd opened her tavern and while he was still a seaman on the _Zeelander_. That Dutch ship had arrived with clapboards and staves from Portsmouth, Rhode Island, needed on Barbados for houses and tobacco casks. While the _Zeelander _was lading Barbados cotton for the mills in New England, he'd come in one night with the other members of the Dutch crew, and she'd introduced him to one of the girls. But, later on, it was her he'd bought drinks for, not the plump Irish colleen he'd been with. And then came the questions. How'd she get on, he wanted to know, living by her wits out here in the New World? Where was the money? She'd figured, rightly, that Hugh was looking for something, maybe thinking to try and make his own way, as she had. After a while he'd finally ordered a tankard for the pouting girl, then disappeared. But there he was again the next evening, and the one after that too. Each time he'd go off with one of the girls, then come back and talk with her. Finally one night he did something unheard of. He bought a full flask of kill-devil and proposed they take a walk down to look at the ship. God's life, as though she hadn't seen enough worn-out Dutch frigates. . . . Then she realized what was happening. This young English mate with a scar on his cheek desired her, was paying court to her. He even seemed to like her. Didn't he know she no longer entertained the trade herself? But Hugh was different. So, like a fool, she lost sight of her better judgment. Later that night, she showed him how a woman differed from a girl. And she still found occasion to remind him from time to time, seven years later. . . . "I want to show you how I came by the idea I've been working on." He abruptly rose and walked back to the bedroom. When he returned he was carrying his two pistols, their long steel barrels damascened with gold and the stocks fine walnut. He placed them carefully on the table, then dropped back into his chair and reached for his tankard. "Take a look at those." "God's blood." She glanced at the guns and gave a tiny snort. "Every time I see you, you've got another pair." "I like to keep up with the latest designs." "So tell me what's 'latest' about these." "A lot of things. In the first place, the firing mechanism's a flintlock. So when you pull the trigger, the piece of flint there in the hammer strikes against the steel wing on the cap of the powder pan, opening it and firing the powder in a single action. Also, the powder pan loads automatically when the barrel's primed. It's faster and better than a matchlock." "That's lovely. But flintlocks have been around for some time, or hadn't you heard?" She looked at the guns and took a sip of sack, amused by his endless fascination with pistols. He'd always been that way, but it was to a purpose. You'd be hard pressed to find a marksman in the Caribbees better or faster than Hugh--a little talent left over from his time with the Cow-Killers on Tortuga, though for some reason he'd as soon not talk about those years. She glanced down again. "Is it just my eyes, or do I see two barrels? Now I grant you this is the first time I've come across anything like that. " "Congratulations. That's what's new about this design. Watch." He lifted up a gun and carefully touched a second trigger, a smaller one in front of the first. The barrel assembly emitted a light click and revolved a half turn, bringing up the second barrel, ready to fire. "See, they're double-barreled. I hear it's called a 'turn-over' mechanism--since when you pull that second trigger, a spring-loaded assembly turns over a new barrel, complete with a primed powder pan." He gripped the muzzle and revolved the barrels back to their initial position. "This design's going to be the coming thing, mark it." He laid the pistol back onto the table. "Oh, by the way, there's one other curiosity. Have a look there on the breech. Can you make out the name?" She lifted one of the flintlocks and squinted in the half-light. Just in front of the ornate hammer there was a name etched in gold: "Don Francisco de Castilla." "That's more'n likely the gunsmith who made them. On a fine pistol you'll usually see the maker's name there. You ought to know that." She looked at him. "I didn't suppose you made them yourself, darlin'. I've never seen that name before, but God knows there're lots of Spanish pistols around the Caribbean. Everybody claims they're the best." "That's what I thought the name was too. At first." He lifted his tankard and examined the amber contents. "Tell me. How much do you know about Jamaica?" "What's that got to do with these pistols?" "One thing at a time. I asked you what you know about Jamaica." "No more'n everybody else does. It's a big island somewhere to the west of here, that the Spaniards hold. There's supposed to be a harbor and a fortress, and a little settlement they call Villa de la Vega, with maybe a couple of thousand planters. But that's about all, from what I hear, since the Spaniards've never yet found any gold or silver there." She studied him, puzzling. "Why're you asking?" "I've been thinking. Maybe I'll go over and poke around a bit." He paused, then lowered his voice. "Maybe see if I can take the fortress." " 'Maybe take the fortress,' you say?" She exploded with laughter and reached for the sack. "I reckon I'd best put away this flask. Right now." "You don't think I can do it?" "I hear the Spaniards've got heavy cannon in that fortress, and a big militia. Even some cavalry. No Englishman's going to take it." She looked at him. "Not wishing to offend, love, but wouldn't you say that's just a trifle out of your depth?" "I appreciate your expression of confidence." He settled his tankard on the table. "Then tell me something else. Do you remember Jackson?" "The famous 'Captain' Jackson, you mean?" "Captain William Jackson." "Sure, I recall that lying knave well enough." She snorted. "Who could forget him. He was here for two months once, while you were out, and turned Barbados upside down, recruiting men to sail against the Spaniards' settlements on the Main. Claiming he was financed by the Earl of Warwick. He sat drinking every night at this very table, then left me a stack of worthless sight drafts, saying he'd be back in no time to settle them in Spanish gold." She studied him for a moment. "That was four years past. The best I know he was never heard from since. For sure _I_ never heard from him." Suddenly she leaned forward. "Don't tell me you know where he might be?" "Not any more. But I learned last year what happened back then. It turns out he got nothing on the Main. The Spaniards would empty any settlement--Maracaibo, Puerto Cabello--he tried to take. They'd just strip their houses and disappear into the jungle." "So he went back empty-handed?" "Wrong. That's what he wanted everybody to think happened. Especially the Earl of Warwick. He kept on going." Winston lowered his voice again, beyond reach of the men across the room. "I wouldn't believe what he did next if I didn't have these pistols." He picked up one of the guns and yelled toward the whist table. "John." "Aye." Mewes was on his feet in an instant, wiping his hand across his mouth. "Remember where I got these flintlocks?" "I seem to recall it was Virginia. Jamestown." He reached down and lifted his tankard for a sip. Then he wiped his mouth a second time. "An' if you want my thinkin', they was sold to you by the scurviest- lookin' whoreson that ever claim'd he was English, that I'd not trust with tuppence. An' that's the truth." "Well . . ." She leaned back in her chair. "Along with the pistols I also got part of the story of Jackson's expedition. It seems this man had been with them--claimed he was first mate on the flagship--but he'd finally jumped ship when Jackson tried to storm a fortress up on the coast of Spanish Florida, then made his way north to Virginia. He stole these pistols from Jackson's cabin the night he swam ashore." "Then I've half a mind to confiscate them here and now as payment for my sight drafts." She inspected the guns. "But I still don't follow what that's got to do with Jamaica." He picked up one of the pistols again and traced his finger along the flintlock. "The name. Don Francisco de Castilla. I kept thinking and thinking, and finally I remembered. That's not a pistol maker. That's the name of the Spanish governor of Villa de la Vega. Jamaica. " "But then how did Jackson get them? I never saw these pistols when he was here, and I'd have remembered them, you can be sure." She was staring skeptically at the guns. "That's what I began to wonder. So I tracked down the seller and found out what really happened." He lowered his voice again. "Jackson got them from de Castilla's personal strongbox. In the fortress. William Jackson took Jamaica. He got the idea the Spaniards'd never be expecting an attack that far from the Main, and he was right. So after Maracaibo, he made way straight for Jamaica. He raised the bay at dawn, brought the fleet together and put in for the harbor. The fortress, the town, all of it, was his in a morning." "But how could he hold the place? As soon as the Spaniards over on the Main got word, they'd be sure to send a . . ." "He didn't bother. He delivered the town back in return for provisions and a ransom of twenty thousand pieces of eight. Split the money with his men and swore them to secrecy. But he kept these pistols." Winston smiled. "Except now they're mine." "Hold a minute. I'm afraid I'm beginning to see what you're thinking." She leaned forward, alarm in her eyes. "So let me tell you a few things. About that little expedition of Jackson's. That fast-talking rogue put in here with three armed frigates. He raised over five hundred men and God knows how many muskets. I saw them all off, holding my valuable sight drafts, the day he set sail out of Carlisle Bay." "But what if I got more men?" "In God's name, who from?" "Who do you think?" He ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. "I've been thinking it over for months. Well, now I've made up my mind. What the hell are the Americas for? Slavery?" He looked back. "I'm going to take Jamaica, and keep it. It'll be the one place in the New World where there'll be no indentures. No slaves. Just free men. The way it was on Tortuga." "Christ on a cross, you've totally taken leave of sense!" She looked at him dumbfounded. "You'd best stop dreaming about Jamaica and put your deep mind to work on how you're going to collect those sight bills from the Council. You've got to make a living, love." "The sight bills are part of my plan. As it happens, I expect to settle that very item next Friday night." "Best of luck." She paused, then pushed back from the table. "God's blood, were you invited?" He looked up from his tankard. "How do you know where I'm going?" "There's only one place it could be. The fancy ball Master Briggs is holdin' for the Council. In his grand new estate house. It's the reason there's not a scrap of taffeta left in the whole of Bridgetown. I was trying to buy some all yesterday for the girls." "I have to go. It's the perfect time to see them all together." "And I suppose Miss Katherine Bedford'll be there as well?" Her voice had acquired an unmistakable edge. "In her official capacity as 'First Lady'?" "Oddly enough, I neglected to enquire on that point." "Did you now?" She sniffed. "Aye, her highness'll be in attendance, and probably wearin' half the taffeta I wanted to buy. Not that it'll be made up properly. She'll be there, the strumpet, on my honor. . . ." "What if she is? It's no matter to me." He drank again. "I just want my sight bills paid, in coin as agreed, not in bales of their damned worthless tobacco." She seemed not to hear. ". . . when she's too busy ridin' that mare of hers to so much as nod her bonnet to an honest woman who might have need to make a living. . . ." "All right." He set down his tankard. "I'll take you." "Pardon?" "I said _I'll take you_." "Now you've gone totally daft." She stared at him, secretly overjoyed he'd consider asking. "Can you fancy the scene? Me, in amongst all those dowdy Puritan sluts! Stuffing their fat faces whilst arguing over whether to starve their indentures completely to death. Not to mention there'd be general heart seizure in the ranks of the Council, the half of which keep open accounts here on the sly. Only I'm lucky to get paid in musty tobacco, let alone the coin you 're dreaming of." She laughed. "And I warrant you'll be paid with the same, love. That's assuming you're ever paid at all." "As you will." He took a sip of sack. "But since you're so worried about the women, don't forget who else'll probably be there." "Who do you mean?" "Remember what the Portugals say: '_E a mulata que e Mulher'_." "'It's the mulatto who's the real woman.'" She translated the famous Pernambuco expression, then frowned. "I suppose you mean that Portuguese mulatto Master Briggs bought for himself when you took them all down to Brazil. The one named Serina." "The very one. I caught a glimpse of her again last night." "I know her, you rogue. Probably better than you do. Briggs is always sending her down here for bottles of kill-devil, sayin' he doesn't trust his indentures to get them home. She's a fine-featured woman of the kind, if I say it myself." "Finer than Briggs deserves." "Did you know that amongst the Council she's known as his 'pumpkin- colored whore'? Those hypocritical Puritan whoremasters. I always ask her to stay a bit when she comes. I think she's probably lonely, poor creature. But I can tell you one thing for certain--she takes no great satisfaction in her new owner. Or in Barbados either, come to that, after the fine plantation she lived on in Brazil." She laughed. "Something not hard to understand. I'm always amazed to remember she's a slave. Probably one of the very first on this island." She looked away reflectively. "Though now she's got much company." "Too much." "You may be right for once. It's a new day, on my faith, and I don't mind telling you it troubles me a bit. There're apt to be thousands of these Africans here soon. There'll be nothing like it anywhere in the Americas." She sighed. "But the Council's all saying the slaves'll change everything, make them all rich." Her voice quickened as she turned back. "Do you suppose it's true?" "Probably. That's why I plan to try and change a few things too." He looked out at the bay, where a line of brown pelicans glided single file across the tips of waves. The horizon beyond was lost in mist. "My own way." Chapter Three Katherine gazed past the pewter candlesticks and their flickering tapers, down the long cedar table of Briggs' dining hall, now piled high with stacks of greasy wooden plates spilling over with half- finished food. The room was wide and deep, with dark oak beams across the ceiling and fresh white plaster walls. Around the table were rows of grim men in black hats and plump Puritan women in tight bodices and starched collars. For all its surface festivity, there was something almost ominous about the evening. Change was in the air, and not change for the better. At the head of the table were the most prominent members of the Council, the owners of Barbados' largest plantations. She knew the wealthiest ones personally: Edward Bayes, his jowls protruding beneath his whisp of beard, owned the choicest coastal lands north around Speightstown; Thomas Lancaster, now red-cheeked and glassy-eyed from the liquor, had the largest plantation in the rolling plains of St. George's parish, mid-island; Nicholas Whittington, dewlapped and portly, was master of a vast acreage in Christ's Church parish, on the southern coast. Anthony Walrond had not been invited, nor any other of the new royalist emigres--which she should have known was exactly what was going to happen before she went to all the bother of having a new dress and bodice made up. No, tonight the guests were the rich planters, the old settlers who arrived on Barbados in the early years and claimed the best land. They were the ones that Dalby Bedford, now seated beside her, diplomatically sipping from his tankard, liked to call the "plantocracy." They had gathered to celebrate the beginnings of the sugar miracle. And the new order. The room was alive with an air of expectancy, almost as palpable as the smoke that drifted in through the open kitchen door. Benjamin Briggs' banquet and ball, purportedly a celebration, was in truth something more like a declaration: the Assembly, that elected body created by Dalby Bedford from among the small freeholders, would soon count for nothing in the face of the big planters' new wealth and power. Henceforth, this flagship of the Americas would be controlled by the men who owned the most land and the most slaves. The worst part of all, she told herself, was that Briggs' celebration would probably last till dawn. Though the banquet was over now, the ball was about to commence. And after that, Briggs had dramatically announced, there would be a special preview of his new sugarworks, the first on the island. In hopes of reinforcing her spirits, she took another sip of Canary wine, then lifted her glass higher, to study the room through its wavy refractions. Now Briggs seemed a distorted, comical pygmy as he ordered the servants to pass more bottles of kill-devil down the table, where the planters and their wives continued to slosh it into their pewter tankards of lemon punch. After tonight, she found herself thinking, the whole history of the Americas might well have to be rewritten. Barbados would soon be England's richest colony, and unless the Assembly held firm, these few greedy Puritans would seize control. All thanks to sugar. Right there in the middle of it all was Hugh Winston, looking a little melancholy and pensive. He scarcely seemed to notice as several toasts to his health went round the table--salutes to the man who'd made sugar possible. He obviously didn't care a damn about sugar. He was too worried about getting his money. As well he should be, she smiled to herself. He'll never see it. Not a farthing. Anybody could tell that Briggs and the Council hadn't the slightest intention of settling his sight bills. He didn't impress them for a minute with those pretty Spanish pistols in his belt. They'd stood up to a lot better men than him. Besides, there probably weren't two thousand pounds in silver on the whole island. Like all the American settlements, Barbados' economy existed on barter and paper; everything was valued in weights of tobacco or cotton. Metal money was almost never seen; in fact, it was actually against the law to export coin from England to the Americas. The whole Council together couldn't come up with that much silver. He could forget about settling his sight bills in specie. "I tell you this is the very thing every man here'll need if he's to sleep nights." Briggs voice cut through her thoughts. He was at the head of the table, describing the security features of his new stone house. "Mind you, it's not yet finished." He gestured toward the large square staircase leading up toward the unpainted upper floors. "But it's already secure as the Tower of London." She remembered Briggs had laid the first stone of his grand new plantation house in the weeks after his return from Brazil, in anticipation of the fortune he expected to make from sugar, and he had immediately christened it "Briggs Hall." The house and its surrounding stone wall were actually a small fortress. The dining room where they sat now was situated to one side of the wide entry foyer, across from the parlor and next to the smoky kitchen, a long stone room set off to the side. There were several small windows along the front and back of the house, but these could all be sealed tight with heavy shutters--a measure as much for health as safety, since the planters believed the cool night breeze could induce dangerous chills and "hot paroxysms." Maybe he thought he needed such a house. Maybe, she told herself, he did. He already had twenty indentures, and he'd just bought thirty Africans. The island now expected more slave cargos almost weekly. As she listened, she found herself watching Hugh Winston, wondering what the Council's favorite smuggler thought of it all. Well, at the moment he looked unhappy. He seemed to find Briggs' lecture on the new need for security either pathetic or amusing--his eyes were hard to make out--but she could tell from his glances round the table he found something ironic about the need for a stone fort in the middle of a Caribbean island. Briggs suddenly interrupted his monologue and turned to signal his servants to begin placing trenchers of clay pipes and Virginia tobacco down the table. A murmur of approval went up when the planters saw it was imported, not the musty weed raised on Barbados. The appearance of the tobacco signaled the official end of the food. As the gray-shirted servants began packing and firing the long-stemmed pipes, then kneeling to offer them to the tipsy planters, several of the more robust wives present rose with a grateful sigh. Holding their new gowns away from the ant-repellent tar smeared along the legs of the table and chairs, they began retiring one by one to the changing room next to the kitchen, where Briggs' Irish maidservants could help loosen their tight bodices in preparation for the ball. Katherine watched the women file past, then cringed as she caught the first sound of tuning fiddles from the large room opposite the entryway. What was the rest of the evening going to be like? Surely the banquet alone was enough to prove Briggs was now the most powerful man in Barbados, soon perhaps in all the Americas. He had truly outdone himself. Even the servants were saying it was the grandest night the island had ever seen--and predicting it was only the first of many to come. The indentures themselves had all dined earlier on their usual fare of loblolly cornmeal mush, sweet potatoes, and hyacinth beans--though tonight they were each given a small allowance of pickled turtle in honor of the banquet. But for the Council and their wives, Briggs had dressed an expensive imported beef as the centerpiece of the table. The rump had been boiled, and the brisket, along with the cheeks, roasted. The tongue and tripe had been minced and baked into pies, seasoned with sweet herbs, spices, and currants. The beef had been followed by a dish of Scots collops of pork; then a young kid goat dressed in its own blood and thyme, with a pudding in its belly; and next a sweet suckling pig in a sauce of brains, sage, and nutmeg mulled in Claret wine. After that had come a shoulder of mutton and a side of goat, both covered with a rasher of bacon, then finally baked rabbit and a loin of veal. And as though that weren't enough to allow every planter there to gorge himself to insensibility, there were also deep bowls of potato pudding and dishes of baked plantains, prickly pear, and custard apples. At the end came the traditional cold meats, beginning with roast duck well larded, then Spanish bacon, pickled oysters, and fish roe. With it all was the usual kill-devil, as well as Canary wine, Sherry, and red sack from Madeira. When the grease-stained table had been cleared and the pipes lighted, Briggs announced the after-dinner cordial. A wide bowl of French brandy appeared before him, and into it the servants cracked a dozen large hen eggs. Then a generous measure of sugar was poured in and the mixture vigorously stirred. Finally he called for a burning taper, took it himself, and touched the flame to the brandy. The fumes hovering over the dish billowed into a huge yellow blossom, and the table erupted with a cheer. After the flame had died away, the servants began ladling out the mixture and passing portions down the table. Katherine sipped the sweet, harsh liquid and watched as two of the planters sitting nearby, their clay pipes billowing, rose unsteadily and hoisted their cups for a toast. The pair smelled strongly of sweat and liquor. They weren't members of the Council, but both would also be using the new sugar-works--for a percentage--after Briggs had finished with his own cane, since their plantations were near Briggs' and neither could afford the investment to build his own. One was Thomas Lockwood, a short, brooding Cornwall bachelor who now held a hundred acres immediately north of Briggs' land, and the other was William Marlott, a thin, nervous Suffolk merchant who had repaired to Barbados with his consumptive wife ten years before and had managed to accumulate eighty acres upland, all now planted in cane. "To the future of sugar on Barbados," Lockwood began, his voice slurred from the kill-devil. Then Marlott joined in, "And a fine fortune to every man at this table." A buzz of approval circled the room, and with a scrape of chairs all the other men pulled themselves to their feet and raised their cups. Katherine was surprised to see Hugh Winston lean back in his chair, his own cup sitting untouched on the boards. He'd been drinking all evening, but now his eyes had acquired an absent gaze as he watched the hearty congratulations going around. After the planters had drunk, Briggs turned to him with a querulous expression. "Where's your thirst, Captain? Will you not drink to the beginnings of English prosperity in the Caribbees? Sure, it's been a long time coming." "You'll be an even longer time paying the price." It was virtually the first time Winston had spoken all evening, and his voice was subdued. There was a pause, then he continued, his voice still quiet. "So far all sugar's brought you is slavery. And prisons for homes, when it was freedom that Englishmen came to the Americas for. Or so I've heard claimed." "Now sir, every man's got a right to his own mind on a thing, I always say. But the Caribbees were settled for profit, first and foremost. Let's not lose sight of that." Briggs smiled indulgently and settled his cup onto the table. "For that matter, what's all this 'freedom' worth if you've not a farthing in your pocket? We've tried everything else, and it's got to be sugar. It's the real future of the Americas, depend on it. Which means we've got to work a batch of Africans, plain as that, and pay mind they don't get out of hand. We've tried it long enough to know these white indentures can't, or won't, endure the labor to make sugar. Try finding me a white man who'll cut cane all day in the fields. That's why every spoon of that sweet powder an English gentlewoman stirs into her china cup already comes from a black hand in chains. It's always been, it'll always be. For sure it'll be the Papist Spaniards and Portugals still holding the chains if not us." Winston, beginning to look a bit the worse for drink, seemed not to hear. "Which means you're both on the end of a chain, one way or another." "Well, sir, that's as it may be." Briggs settled back into his chair. "But you've only to look at the matter to understand there's nothing to compare with sugar. Ask any Papist. Now I've heard said it was first discovered in Cathay, but we all know sugar's been the monopoly of the Spaniards and Portugals for centuries. Till now. Mind you, the men in this room are the first Englishmen who've ever learned even how to plant the cane--not with seeds, but by burying sections of stalk." Katherine braced herself for what would come next. She had heard it all so many times before, she almost knew his text by heart. "We all know that if the Dutchmen hadn't taken that piece of Brazil from the Portugals, sugar'd be the secret of the Papists still. So this very night we're going to witness the beginning of a new history of the world. English sugar." "Aye," Edward Bayes interrupted, pausing to wipe his beard against his sleeve. "We've finally found something we can grow here in the Caribbees that'll have a market worldwide. Show me the fine lord who doesn't have his cook lade sugar into every dish on his table. Or the cobbler, one foot in the almshouse, who doesn't use all the sugar he can buy or steal." Bayes beamed, his red-tinged eyes aglow in the candlelight. "And that's only today, sir. I tell you, only today. The market for sugar's just beginning." "Not a doubt," Briggs continued. "Consider the new fashion just starting up in London for drinking coffee, and chocolate. There's a whole new market for sugar, since they'll not be drunk without it." He shoved aside his cup of punch and reached to pour a fresh splash of kill-devil into his tankard. "In faith, sugar's about to change forever the way Englishmen eat, and drink, and live." "And I'll wager an acre of land here'll make a pound of sugar for every pound of tobacco it'll grow." Lockwood rose again. "When sugar'll bring who knows how many times the price. If we grow enough cane on Barbados, and buy ourselves enough of these Africans to bring it in, we'll be underselling the Papists in five years' time, maybe less." "Aye." Briggs seconded Lockwood, eyeing him as he drank. It was common knowledge that Briggs held eighteen-month sight drafts from the planter, coming due in a fortnight. Katherine looked at the two of them and wondered how long it would be before the better part of Lockwood's acres were incorporated into the domain of Briggs Hall. "Well, I kept my end of our bargain, for better or worse." Winston's voice lifted over the din of the table. "Now it's time for yours. Two thousand pounds were what we agreed on, in coin. Spanish pieces-of- eight, English sovereigns--there's little difference to me." It's come, Katherine thought. But he'll not raise a shilling. Briggs was suddenly scrutinizing his tankard as an uneasy quiet settled around the table. "It's a hard time for us all just now, sir." He looked up. "Six months more and we'll have sugar to sell to the Dutchmen. But as it is today . . ." "That's something you should've thought about when you signed those sight drafts." "I'd be the first one to grant you that point, sir, the very first." Briggs' face had assumed an air of contrition. "But what's done's done." He placed his rough hands flat down on the table, as though to symbolize they were empty. "We've talked it over, and the best we can manage now's to roll them over, with interest, naturally. What would you say to . . . five percent?" "That wasn't the understanding." Winston's voice was quiet, but his eyes narrowed. "Well, sir. That's the terms we're prepared to offer." Briggs' tone hardened noticeably. "In this world it's the wise man who takes what he can get." "The sight bills are for cash on demand." Winston's voice was still faint, scarcely above a whisper. Katherine listened in dismay, realizing she'd secretly been hoping he could stand up to the Council. Just to prove somebody could. And now . . . "Damn your sight bills, sir. We've made you our offer." Briggs exchanged glances with the other members of the Council. "In truth, it'd be in the interest of all of us here to just have them declared worthless paper." "You can't rightfully do that." Winston drank again. "They have full legal standing." "We have courts here, sir, that could be made to take the longer view. To look to the interests of the island." "There're still courts in England. If we have to take it that far." "But you'll not be going back there, sir. We both know it'd take years." Briggs grinned. "And I'll warrant you'd get more justice in England than you bargained for, if you had the brass to try it." "That remains to be seen." Winston appeared trying to keep his voice firm. "But there'll be no need for that. I seem to recall the terms give me recourse--the right to foreclose. Without notice." "Foreclose?" Briggs seemed unsure he had caught the word. "Since you co-signed all the notes yourself, I won't have to bother with the rest of the Council," Winston continued. "I can just foreclose on you personally. Remember you pledged this plantation as collateral." "That was a formality. And it was two years past." Briggs laughed. "Before I built this house. And the sugarworks. At the time there was nothing on this property but a thatched-roof bungalow." "Formality or not, the drafts pledge these acres and what's on them." "Well, damn you, sir." Briggs slammed down his tankard. "You'll not get . . ." "Mind you, I don't have any use for the land," Winston interjected. "So why don't we just make it the sugarworks? That ought to about cover what's owed." He looked back. "If I present the notes in Bridgetown tomorrow morning, we can probably just transfer ownership then and there. What do you say to that arrangement?" "You've carried this jest quite far enough, sir." Briggs' face had turned the color of the red prickly-pear apples on the table. "We all need that sugarworks. You'll not be getting your hands on it. I presume I speak for all the Council when I say we'll protect our interests. If you try foreclosing on that sugarworks, I'll call you out. I've a mind to anyway, here and now. For your damned impudence." He abruptly pushed back from the table, his doublet falling open to reveal the handle of a pistol. Several Council members shoved back also. All had flintlock pistols in their belts, the usual precaution in an island of unruly indentures. Winston appeared not to notice. "I see no reason for anyone to get killed over a little business transaction." Briggs laughed again. "No sir, I suppose you'd rather just try intimidating us with threats of foreclosure. But by God, if you think you can just barge in here and fleece the Council of Barbados, you've miscalculated. It's time you learned a thing or two about this island," he continued, his voice rising. "Just because you like to strut about with a pair of fancy flintlocks in your belt, don't think we'll all heel to your bluff." He removed his dark hat and threw it on the table. It matched the black velvet of his doublet. "You can take our offer, or you can get off my property, here and now." Katherine caught the determined looks in the faces of several members of the Council as their hands dropped to their belts. She suddenly wondered if it had all been planned. Was this what they'd been waiting for? They must have known he'd not accept their offer, and figured there was a cheaper way to manage the whole business anyway. A standoff with pistols, Winston against them all. "I still think it'd be better to settle this honorably." Winston looked down and his voice trailed off, but there was a quick flash of anger in his bloodshot eyes. Slowly he picked up his tankard and drained it. As the room grew silent, he coughed at the harshness of the liquor, then began to toy with the lid, flipping the thumb mechanism attached to the hinged top and watching it flap open and shut. He heaved a sigh, then abruptly leaned back and lobbed it in the general direction of the staircase. As the tankard began its trajectory, he was on his feet, kicking away his chair. There was the sound of a pistol hammer being cocked and the hiss of a powder pan. Then the room flashed with an explosion from his left hand, where a pistol had appeared from out of his belt. At that moment the lid of the tankard seemed to disconnect in midair, spinning sideways as it ricocheted off the post of carved mastic wood at the top of the stairs. The pistol clicked, rotating up the under-barrel, and the second muzzle spoke. This time the tankard emitted a sharp ring and tumbled end over end till it slammed against the railing. Finally it bounced to rest against the cedar wainscot of the hallway, a small, centered hole directly through the bottom. The shorn lid was still rolling plaintively along the last step of the stairs. The entire scene had taken scarcely more than a second. Katherine looked back to see him still standing; he had dropped the flintlock onto the table, both muzzles trailing wisps of gray smoke, while his right hand gripped the stock of the other pistol, still in his belt. "You can deduct that from what's owed." His eyes went down the table. Briggs sat motionless in his chair staring at the tankard, while the other planters all watched him in expectant silence. Finally he picked up his hat and settled it back on his head without a word. Slowly, one by one, the other men closed their doublets over their pistols and nervously reached for their tankards. After a moment Winston carefully reached for his chair and straightened it up. He did not sit. "You'll be welcome to buy back the sugarworks any time you like. Just collect the money and settle my sight bills." The room was still caught in silence, till finally Briggs found his voice. "But the coin's not to be had, sir. Try and be reasonable. I tell you we'd not find it on the whole of the island." "Then maybe I'll just take something else." He reached out and seized the motley gray shirt of Timothy Farrell, now tiptoeing around the table carrying a fresh flask of kill-devil to Briggs. The terrified Irishman dropped the bottle with a crash as Winston yanked him next to the table. "Men. And provisions." Briggs looked momentarily disoriented. "I don't follow you, sir. What would you be doing with them?" "That's my affair. Just give me two hundred indentures, owned by the men on the Council who signed the sight drafts." He paused. "That should cover about half the sum. I'll take the balance in provisions. Then you can all have your sight bills to burn." Now Briggs was studying the tankard in front of him, his eyes shining in the candlelight. "Two hundred indentures and you'd be willing to call it settled?" "To the penny." In the silence that followed, the rasp of a fiddle sounded through the doorway, followed by the shrill whine of a recorder. Briggs yelled for quiet, then turned back. "There may be some merit in what you're proposing." He glanced up at Farrell, watching the indenture flee the room as Winston released his greasy shirt. "Yes sir, I'm thinking your proposal has some small measure of merit. I don't know about the other men here, but I can already name you a number of these layabouts I could spare." He turned to the planters next to him, and several nodded agreement. "Aye, I'd have us talk more on it." He pushed back his chair and rose unsteadily from the table. The other planters took this as a signal, and as one man they scraped back their chairs and began to nervously edge toward the women, now clustered under the arches leading into the dancing room. "When the time's more suitable." "Tomorrow, then." "Give us till tomorrow night, sir. After we've had some time to parlay." Briggs nodded, then turned and led the crowd toward the sound of the fiddles, relief in his eyes. Katherine sat unmoving, dreading the prospect of having to dance with any of the drunken planters. She watched through the dim candlelight as Winston reached for an open flask of kill-devil, took a triumphant swig, then slammed it down. She suddenly realized the table had been entirely vacated save for the two of them. The audacity! Of course it had all been a bluff. Anyone should have been able to tell. He'd just wanted the indentures all along. But why? "I suppose congratulations are in order, Captain." "Pardon?" He looked up, not recognizing her through the smoke and flickering shadows. "Forgive me, madam, I didn't catch what you said." "Congratulations. That was a fine show you put on with your pistol." He seemed momentarily startled, but then he laughed at his own surprise and took another swig of kill-devil. "Thank you very much." He wiped his mouth, set down the bottle, and glanced back. "Forgive me if I disturbed your evening." "Where did you learn to shoot like that?" "I used to do a bit of hunting." "Have you ever actually shot a man?" "Not that I choose to remember." "I thought so. It really was a bluff." Her eyebrows lifted. "So may I enquire what is it you propose doing now with your two hundred men and provisions?" "You're Miss Bedford, if I'm not mistaken." He rose, finally making her out. "I don't seem to recall our being introduced." He bowed with a flourish. "Hugh Winston, your most obedient servant." Then he reached for the flask of kill-devil as he lowered back into his chair. "I'd never presume to address a . . . lady unless we're properly acquainted." She found the hint of sarcasm in his tone deliberately provoking. She watched as he took another drink directly from the bottle. "I don't seem to recall ever seeing you speak with a lady, Captain." "You've got a point." His eyes twinkled. "Perhaps it's because there're so few out here in the Caribbees." "Or could it be you're not aware of the difference?" His insolent parody of politeness had goaded her into a tone not entirely to her own liking. "So I've sometimes been told." Again his voice betrayed his pleasure. "But then I doubt there is much, really." He grinned. "At least, by the time they get around to educating me on that topic." As happened only rarely, she couldn't think of a sufficiently cutting riposte. She was still searching for one when he continued, all the while examining her in the same obvious way he'd done on the shore. "Excuse me, but I believe you enquired about something. The men and provisions, I believe it was. The plain answer is I plan to take them and leave Barbados, as soon as I can manage." "And where is it you expect you'll be going?" She found her footing again, and this time she planned to keep it. "Let's say, on a little adventure. To see a new part of the world." He was staring at her through the candlelight. "I've had about enough of this island of yours. Miss Bedford. As well as the new idea that slavery's going to make everybody rich. I'm afraid it's not my style." "But I gather you're the man responsible for our noble new order here, Captain." He looked down at the flask, his smile vanishing. "If that's true, I'm not especially proud of the fact." At last she had him. All his arrogance had dissolved. Just like Jeremy, that time she asked him to tell her what exactly he'd done in the battle at Marsten Moor. Yet for some reason she pulled back, still studying him. "It's hard to understand you, Captain. You help them steal sugarcane from the Portugals, then you decide you don't like it." "At the time it was a job. Miss Bedford. Let's say I've changed my mind since then. Things didn't turn out exactly the way I'd figured they would." He took another drink, then set down the bottle and laughed. "That always seems to be the way." "What do you mean?" "It's something like the story of my life." His tone waxed slightly philosophical as he stared at the flickering candle. "I always end up being kicked about by events. So now I've decided to try turning things around. Do a little kicking of my own." "That's a curious ambition. I suppose these indentures are going to help you do it?" She was beginning to find him more interesting than she'd expected. "You said just now you learned to shoot by hunting. I know a lot of men who hunt, but I've never seen anything like what you did tonight. Where exactly did you learn that?" He paused, wondering how much to say. The place, of course, was Tortuga, and these days that meant the Cow-Killers, men who terrified the settlers of the Caribbean. But this wasn't a woman he cared to frighten. He was beginning to like her brass, the way she met his eye. Maybe, he thought, he'd explain it all to her if he got a chance someday. But not tonight. The story was too long, too painful, and ended too badly. His memories of Tortuga went back to the sultry autumn of 1631. Just a year before, that little island had been taken over by a group of English planters--men and women who'd earlier tried growing tobacco up on St. Christopher, only to run afoul of its Carib Indians and their poisoned arrows. After looking around for another island, they'd decided on Tortuga, where nobody lived then except for a few hunters of wild cattle, the Cow-Killers. Since the hunters themselves spent a goodly bit of their time across the channel on the big Spanish island of Hispaniola, Tortuga was all but empty. But now these planters were living just off the northern coast of a major Spanish domain, potentially much more dangerous than merely having a few Indians about. So they petitioned the newly formed Providence Company in London to swap a shipment of cannon for a tobacco contract. The Company, recently set up by some Puritan would-be privateers, happily agreed. Enter Hugh Winston. He'd just been apprenticed for three months to the Company by his royalist parents, intended as a temporary disciplining for some unpleasant reflections he'd voiced on the character of King Charles that summer after coming home from his first term at Oxford. Lord Winston and his wife Lady Brett, knowing he despised the Puritans for their hypocrisy, assumed this would be the ideal means to instill some royalist sympathies. As it happened, two weeks later the Providence Company posted this unwelcome son of two prominent monarchists out to Tortuga on the frigate delivering their shipment of guns. No surprise, Governor Hilton of the island's Puritan settlement soon had little use for him either. After he turned out to show no more reverence for Puritans than for the monarchy, he was sent over to hunt on Hispaniola with the Cow-Killers. That's where he had to learn to shoot if he was to survive. As things turned out, being banished there probably saved his life. When the Spaniards got word of this new colony, with Englishmen pouring in from London and Bristol, the Audiencia of Santo Domingo, the large Spanish city on Hispaniola's southern side, decided to make an example. So in January of 1635 they put together an assault force of some two hundred fifty infantry, sailed into Tortuga's harbor, and staged a surprise attack. As they boasted afterward, they straightaway put to the sword all those they first captured, then hanged any others who straggled in later. By the time they'd finished, they'd burned the settlement to the ground and killed over six hundred men, women and children. They also hanged a few of the Cow-Killers--a mistake that soon changed history. When Jacques le Basque, the bearded leader of Hispaniola's hunters, found out what had happened to his men, he vowed he was going to bankrupt and destroy Spain's New World empire in revenge. From what was heard these days, he seemed well on his way to succeeding. Hugh Winston had been there, a founding member of that band of men now known as the most vicious marauders the world had ever seen. That was the piece of his life he'd never gotten around to telling anyone. . . . "I did some hunting when I was apprenticed to an English settlement here in the Caribbean. Years ago." "Well, I must say you shoot remarkably well for a tobacco planter, Captain." She knew he was avoiding her question. Why? "I thought I'd just explained. I also hunted some in those days." He took another drink, then sought to shift the topic. "Perhaps now I can be permitted to ask you a question, Miss Bedford. I'd be interested to know what you think of the turn things are taking here? That is, in your official capacity as First Lady of this grand settlement." "What exactly do you mean?" God damn his supercilious tone. "The changes ahead. Here on Barbados." He waved his hand. "Will everybody grow rich, the way they're claiming?" "Some of the landowners are apt to make a great deal of money, if sugar prices hold." Why, she wondered, did he want to know? Was he planning to try and settle down? Or get into the slave trade himself? In truth, that seemed more in keeping with what he did for a living now. "Some? And why only some?" He examined her, puzzling. "Every planter must already own a piece of this suddenly valuable land." "The Council members and the other big landowners are doubtless thinking to try and force out the smaller freeholders, who'll not have a sugarworks and therefore be at their mercy." She began to toy deliberately with her glass, uncomfortable at the prospect she was describing. "It's really quite simple, Captain. I'm sure you can grasp the basic principles of commerce . . . given your line of work." "No little fortunes? just a few big ones?" Oddly, he refused to be baited. "You've got it precisely. But what does that matter to you? You don't seem to care all that much what happens to our small freeholders." "If that's true, it's a sentiment I probably share with most of the people who were at this table tonight." He raised the empty flask of kill-devil and studied it thoughtfully against the candle. "So if Briggs and the rest are looking to try and take it all, then I'd say you're in for a spell of stormy weather here, Miss Bedford." "Well, their plans are far from being realized, that I promise you. Our Assembly will stand up to them all the way." "Then I suppose I should wish you, and your father, and your Assembly luck. You're going to need it." He flung the empty flask crashing into the fireplace, rose, and moved down the table. The light seemed to catch in his scar as he passed the candle. "And now perhaps you'll favor me with the next dance." She looked up, startled, as he reached for her hand. "Captain, I think you ought to know that I'm planning to be married." "To one of these rich planters, I presume." "To a gentleman, if you know what that is. And a man who would not take it kindly if he knew I was seen with you here tonight." "Oh?" "Yes. Anthony Walrond." Winston erupted with laughter. "Well, good for him. He also has superb taste in flintlock muskets. Please tell him that when next you see him." "You mean the ones you stole from his ship that went aground? I don't expect he would find that comment very amusing." "Wouldn't he now." Winston's eyes flashed. "Well, damned to him. And if you want to hear something even less amusing than that, ask him sometime to tell you why I took those muskets." He reached for her hand. "At any rate, I'd like to dance with his lovely fiancee." "I've already told you . . ." "But it's so seldom a man like me is privileged to meet a true lady." His smile suddenly turned gracious. "As you were thoughtful enough to point out only a few moments ago. Why not humor me? I don't suppose you're his property. You seem a trifle too independent for that." Anthony would doubtless be infuriated, but she found herself smiling back. Anyway, how would he ever find out? None of these Puritans even spoke to him. Besides, what else was there to do? Sit and stare at the greasy tankards on the table? . . . But what exactly had Hugh Winston meant about Anthony's muskets? "Very well. Just one." "I'm flattered." He was sweeping her through the archway, into the next room. The fiddles were just starting a new tune, while the planters and their wives lined up facing each other, beginning the country dance Flaunting Two. As couples began to step forward one by one, then whirl down the room in turns to the music, Katherine found herself joining the end of the women's line. Moments later Winston bowed to her, heels together, then spun her down the makeshift corridor between the lines. He turned her away from him, then back, elegantly, in perfect time with the fiddle bows. The dance seemed to go on forever, as bodies smelling of sweat and kill-devil jostled together in the confinement of the tiny room. Yet it was invigorating, purging all her misgivings over the struggle that lay ahead. When she moved her body to her will like this, she felt in control of everything. As if she were riding, the wind hard against her cheek. Then, as now, she could forget about Anthony, the Council, about everything. Why couldn't all of life be managed the same way? When the dance finally concluded, the fiddlers scarcely paused before striking up another. "Just one more?" He was bending over, saying something. "What?" She looked up at him, not hearing his words above the music and noise and bustle of the crowd. Whatever it was he'd said, it couldn't be all that important. She reached for his hand and guided him into the next dance. A loud clanging resounded through the room, causing the fiddles to abruptly halt and startling Katherine, who found herself alarmed less by the sound than by the deadening return of reality. She looked around to see Benjamin Briggs standing in the center of the floor, slamming a large bell with a mallet. "Attention gentlemen and ladies, if you please." He was shouting, even though the room had gone silent. "All's ready. The sugarworks start-up is now. " There was general applause around the room. He waited till it died away, then continued, in a more moderate tone. "I presume the ladies will prefer to retire above stairs rather than chance the night air. There's feather beds and hammocks ready, and the servants'll bring the candles and chamber pots." Winston listened in mock attentiveness, then leaned over toward Katherine. "Then I must bid you farewell, Miss Bedford. And lose you to more worthy companions." She looked at him dumbly, her blood still pumping from the dance. The exhilaration and release were the very thing she'd been needing. "I have no intention of missing the grand start-up." She tried to catch her breath. "It's to be history in the making, don't you recall?" "That it truly will be." He shrugged. "But are you sure the sugar-works is any place for a woman?" "As much as a man." She glared back at him. "There's a woman there already, Captain. Briggs' mulatto. I heard him say she's in the boiling house tonight, showing one of the new Africans how to heat the sap. She supposedly ran one once in Brazil." "Maybe she just told him that to avoid the dance." He turned and watched the planters begin filing out through the wide rear door. "Shall we join them, then?" As they walked out into the courtyard, the cool night air felt delicious against her face and sweltering bodice. At the back of the compound Briggs was opening a heavy wooden gate in the middle of the ten-foot-high stone wall that circled his house. "These Africans'll make all the difference, on my faith. It's already plain as can be." He cast a withering glance at Katherine as she and Winston passed, then he followed them through, ordering the servants to secure the gate. The planters were assembled in a huddle now, surrounded by several of Briggs' indentures holding candle-lanterns. He took up his place at the front of the crowd and began leading them down the muddy road toward the torch-lit sugarworks lying to the left of the plantation house. Along the road were the thatched cabins of the indentured servants, and beyond these was a cluster of half-finished reed and clay huts, scarcely head high, that the Africans had begun constructing for themselves. "They're sound workers, for all their peculiar ways." Briggs paused and pointed to a large drum resting in front of one of the larger huts. It was shaped like an hourglass, and separate goatskins had been stretched over each mouth and laced together, end to end. "What do you make of that contrivance? The first thing they did was start making this drum. And all this morning, before sunup, they were pounding on it. Damnedest racket this side of hell." "Aye, mine did the very same," Lancaster volunteered. "I heard them drumming all over the island." Briggs walked on. "They gathered 'round that Yoruba called Atiba, who's shaking some little seashells on a tray and chanting some of their gabble. After a time he'd say something to one of them and then there'd be more drumming." He shook his head in amazement. "Idolatry worse'n the Papists." "I've a mind to put a stop to it," Whittington interjected. "The indentures are already complaining." "It's a bother, I grant you. But I see no harm in their customs, long as they put in a day's work. The place I drew the line was when they started trying to bathe in my pond every night, when any Christian knows baths are a threat to health. But for it all, one of them will cut more cane than three Irishmen." He cast a contemptuous glance backward at Timothy Farrell, who was following at a distance, holding several bottles of kill-devil. "From sunup to sundown. Good workers, to the man. So if they choose to beat on drums, I say let them. It's nothing from my pocket." Katherine watched Winston shake his head in dismay as he paused to pick up the drum, turning it in his hands. "You seem troubled about their drumming, Captain. Why's that?" He looked up at her, almost as though he hadn't heard. "You've never been to Brazil, have you, Miss Bedford?" "I have not." "Then you probably wouldn't believe me, even if I told you." He looked back at the huts and seemed to be talking to himself. "God damn these Englishmen. They're fools." "It's surely some kind of their African music." "Obviously." His voice had a sarcastic cut, which she didn't particularly like. But before she could reply to him in kind, he had set down the drum and moved on, seeming to have forgotten all about whatever it was that had so distressed him the moment before. Then he turned back to her. "May I enquire if you yourself play an instrument, Miss Bedford?" "I once played the spinet." She reached down and picked up a small land crab wandering across their path. She examined it, then flung it aside, its claws flailing. "But I don't bother anymore." He watched the crab bemusedly, then turned back. "Then you do know something about music?" "We're not without some rudiments of education here on Barbados, Captain." "And languages? Have you ever listened to these Yoruba talk? Theirs is a language of tones, you know. Same as their drums." "Some of these new Africans have a curious-sounding speech, I grant you." He stared at her a moment, as though preoccupied. "God help us all." He might have said more, but then he glanced after the crowd, now moving down the road. Ahead of them a gang of blacks could be seen through the torchlight, carrying bundles of cane in from the field and stacking them in piles near the new mill, situated atop a slight rise. A group of white indentured workers was also moving cane toward the mill from somewhere beyond the range of the torchlight, whipping forward a team of oxen pulling a large two-wheeled cart stacked with bundles. She noticed Winston seemed in no great hurry, and instead appeared to be listening absently to the planters. "Would you believe this is the very same cane we brought from Brazil?" Briggs was pointing toward a half-cut field adjacent to the road. "I planted October a year ago, just before the autumn rains. It's been sixteen months almost to the day, just like the Dutchmen said." He turned back to the crowd of planters. "The indentures weeded and dunged it, but I figured the Africans would be best for cutting it, and I was right. Born field workers. They'll be a godsend if they can be trained to run the sugarworks." He lowered his voice. "This is the last we'll need of these idling white indentures." They were now approaching the mill, which was situated inside a new thatched-roof building. Intended for crushing the cane and extracting the juice, it would be powered by two large white oxen shipped down specially from Rhode Island. The mill was a mechanism of three vertical brass rollers, each approximately a foot in diameter, that were cogged together with teeth around their top and bottom. A large round beam was secured through the middle of the central roller and attached to two long sweeps that extended outward to a circular pathway intended for the draft animals. When the sweeps were moved, the beam would rotate and with it the rollers. "We just finished installing the rollers tonight. There was no chance to test it. But I explained the operation to the indentures. We'll see if they can remember." An ox had been harnessed to each of the two sweeps; as Briggs approached he signaled the servants to whip them forward. The men nodded and lashed out at the animals, who snorted, tossed their heads, then began to trudge in a circular path around the mill. Immediately the central roller began to turn, rotating the outer rollers against it by way of its cogs. As the rollers groaned into movement, several of the indentures backed away and studied them nervously. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Briggs yelled at the two men standing nearest the mill, holding the first bundles of cane. "Go ahead and try feeding it through." One of the men moved gingerly toward the grinding rollers and reached out, at arm's length, to feed a small bundle consisting of a half dozen stalks of cane into the side rotating away from him. There was a loud crackle as the bundle began to gradually disappear between the rollers. As the crushed cane stalks emerged on the rear side of the mill, a second indenture seized the flattened bundle and fed it back through the pair of rollers turning in the opposite direction. In moments a trickle of pale sap began sliding down the sides of the rollers and dripping into a narrow trough that led through the wall and down the incline toward the boiling house. Briggs walked over to the trough and examined the running sap in silence. Then he dipped in a finger and took it to his lips. He savored it for a moment, looked up, triumph in his eyes, and motioned the other men forward. "Have a taste. It's the sweetest nectar there could ever be." As the planters gathered around the trough sampling the first cane juice, indentures continued feeding a steady progression of cane bundles between the rollers. While the planters stood watching, the trough began to flow. "It works, by Christ." Marlott emitted a whoop and dipped in for a second taste. "The first English sugar mill in all the world." "We've just witnessed that grand historic moment, Miss Bedford." Winston turned back to her, his voice sardonic. "In a little more time, these wonderful sugarmills will probably cover Barbados. Together with the slaves needed to cut the cane for them. I'd wager that in a few years' time there'll be more Africans here than English. What we've just witnessed is not the beginning of the great English Caribbees, but the first step toward what'll one day be the great African Caribbees. I suggest we take time to savor it well." His voice was drowned in the cheer rising up from the cluster of planters around Briggs. They had moved on down the incline now and were standing next to the boiling house, watching as the sap began to collect in a tank. Briggs scrutinized the tank a moment longer, then turned to the group. "This is where the sap's tempered with wet ashes just before it's boiled. That's how the Portugals do it. From here it runs through that trough,"--he indicated a second flow, now starting-- "directly into the first kettle in the boiling house." He paused and gestured Farrell to bring the flasks forward. "I propose we take time to fortify ourselves against the heat before going in." "Shall we proceed?" Winston was pointing down the hill. Then he laughed. "Or would you like some liquor first?" "Please." She pushed past him and headed down the incline. They reached the door of the boiling house well before the planters, who were lingering at the tank, passing the flask. Winston ducked his head at the doorway and they passed through a wide archway and into a thatched- roof enclosure containing a long, waist-high furnace of Dutch brick. In the back, visible only from the light of the open furnace door, were two figures: Briggs' new Yoruba slave Atiba and his Portuguese mistress, Serina. Katherine, who had almost forgotten how beautiful the mulatto was, found herself slightly relieved that Serina was dressed in perfect modesty. She wore a full-length white shift, against which her flawless olive skin fairly glowed in the torchlight. As they entered, she was speaking animatedly with Atiba while bending over to demonstrate how to feed dry cane tops into the small openings along the side of the furnace. When she spotted them, however, she pulled suddenly erect and fell silent, halting in mid-sentence. The heat in the room momentarily took away Katherine's breath, causing her to stand in startled disorientation. It was only then that she realized Hugh Winston was pulling at her sleeve. Something in the scene apparently had taken him completely by surprise. Then she realized what it was. Serina had been speaking to the tall, loincloth-clad Yoruba in an alien language that sounded almost like a blend of musical tones and stops. Now the planters began barging through the opening, congratulating Briggs as they clustered around the string of copper cauldrons cemented into the top of the long furnace. Then, as the crowd watched expectantly, a trickle of cane sap flowed down from the holding tank and spattered into the first red-hot cauldron. The men erupted with a cheer and whipped their hats into the air. Again the brown flask of kill-devil was passed appreciatively. After taking a long swallow, Briggs turned to Serina, gesturing toward Atiba as he addressed her in pidgin Portuguese, intended to add an international flavor to the evening. "_Ele compreendo _?" "_Sim. Compreendo_." She nodded, reached for a ladle, and began to skim the first gathering of froth off the top of the boiling liquid. Then she dumped the foam into a clay pot beside the furnace. "She's supposed to know how fast to feed the furnaces to keep the temperature right. And when to ladle the liquor into the next cauldron down the row." He stepped back from the furnace, fanning himself with his hat, and turned to the men. "According to the way the Portugals do it in Brazil, the clarified liquor from the last cauldron in the line here is moved to a cistern to cool for a time, then it's filled into wooden pots and moved to the curing house." "Is that ready too?" A husky voice came from somewhere in the crowd. "Aye, and I've already had enough pots made to get started. We let the molasses drain out and the sugar cure for three or four months, then we move the pots to the knocking house, where we turn them over and tap out a block of sugar. The top and bottom are brown sugar, what the Portugals call _muscavado_, and the center is pure white." He reached again for the bottle and took a deep swallow. "Twenty pence a pound in London, when our tobacco used to clear three farthings." "To be sure, the mill and the boiling house are the key. We'll have to start building these all over the island." Thomas Lancaster removed his black hat to wipe his brow, then pulled it firmly back on his head. "And start training the Africans in their operation. No white man could stand this heat." "She should have this one trained in a day or so." Briggs thumbed toward Atiba, now standing opposite the door examining the planters. "Then we can have him train more." "I'll venture you'd do well to watch that one particularly close." Edward Bayes lowered his voice, speaking into his beard. "There's a look about him." "Aye, he's cantankerous, I'll grant you, but he's quick. He just needs to be tamed. I've already had to flog him once, ten lashes, the first night here, when he balked at eating loblolly mush." "Ten, you say?" Dalby Bedford did not bother to disguise the astonishment in his voice. "Would you not have done better to start with five?" "Are you lecturing me now on how to best break in my Africans?" Briggs glared. "I paid for them, sir. They're my property, to manage as I best see fit." Nicholas Whittington murmured his assent, and others concurred. "As you say, gentlemen. But you've got three more Dutch slavers due within a fortnight. I understand they're supposed to be shipping Barbados a full three thousand this year alone." Bedford looked about the room with a concerned expression. "That'll be just a start, if sugar production expands the way it seems it will. It might be well if we had the Assembly pass Acts for ordering and governing these slaves." "Damn your Assembly. We already have laws for property on Barbados." Again the other planters voiced their agreement. Bedford stood listening, then lifted his hand for quiet. Katherine found herself wishing he would be as blunt with them as Winston had been. Sometimes the governor's good manners got in the way, something that hardly seemed to trouble Hugh Winston. "I tell you this is no light matter. No man in this room knows how to manage all these Africans. What Englishman has ever been responsible for twenty, thirty, nay perhaps even a hundred slaves? They've to be clothed in some manner, fed, paired for offspring. And religion, sir? Some of the Quakers we've let settle in Bridgetown are already starting to say your blacks should be baptized and taught Christianity." "You can't be suggesting it? If we let them be made Christians, where would it end?" Briggs examined him in disbelief. "You'd have laws, sir, Acts of your Assembly. Well there's the place to start. I hold the first law should be to fine and set in the stocks any of these so- called Quakers caught trying to teach our blacks Christianity. We'll not stand for it." Katherine saw Serina's features tense and her eyes harden, but she said nothing, merely continued to skim the foam from the boiling surface of the cauldron. "The Spaniards and Portugals teach the Catholic faith to their Negroes," Bedford continued evenly. "And there you have the difference. They're not English. They're Papists." Briggs paused as he studied the flow of cane sap entering the cauldron from the holding tank, still dripping slowly from the lead spout. "By the looks of it, it could be flowing faster." He studied it a moment longer, then turned toward the door. "The mill. Maybe that's the answer. What if we doubled the size of the cane bundles?" Katherine watched the planters trail after Briggs, out the doorway and into the night, still passing the flask of kill-devil. "What do you think, Captain? Should an African be made a Christian?" "Theology's not my specialty, Miss Bedford." He walked past her. "Tell me first if you think a Puritan's one." He was moving toward Serina, who stood silently skimming the top of the first cauldron, now a vigorous boil. She glanced up once and examined him, then returned her eyes to the froth. Katherine just managed to catch a few words as he began speaking to her quietly in fluent Portuguese, as though to guard against any of the planters accidentally overhearing. "Senhora, how is it you know the language of the Africans?" She looked up for a moment without speaking, her eyes disdainful. "I'm a slave too, as you well know, senhor." Then she turned and continued with the ladle. "But you're a Portugal." "And never forget that. I am not one of these _preto_." She spat out the Portuguese word for Negro. Atiba continued methodically shoving cane tops into the roaring mouth of the furnace. "But you were speaking to him just now in his own language. I recognized it." "He asked a question, and I answered him, that's all." "Then you do know his language? How?" "I know many things." She fixed his eyes, continuing in Portuguese. "Perhaps it surprises you Ingles that a _mulata _can speak at all. I also know how to read, something half the _branco _rubbish who were in this room tonight probably cannot do." Katherine knew only a smattering of Portuguese, but she caught the part about some of the _branco_, the whites, not being able to read. She smiled to think there was probably much truth in that. Certainly almost none of the white indentures could. Further, she suspected that many of the planters had never bothered to learn either. "I know you were educated in Brazil." Winston was pressing Serina relentlessly. "I was trying to ask you how you know the language of this African?" She paused, her face a blend of haughtiness and regret. She started to speak, then stopped herself. "Won't you tell me?" She turned back, as though speaking to the cauldron. "My mother was Yoruba." "Is that how you learned?" His voice was skeptical. "I was taught also by a _babalawo_, a Yoruba priest, in Brazil." "What's she saying?" Katherine moved next to him, shielding her eyes from the heat. "_Desculpe_, senhora, excuse me." Winston quickly moved forward, continuing in Portuguese as he motioned toward Katherine. "This is . . ." "I know perfectly well who Miss Bedford is." Serina interrupted him, still in Portuguese. Katherine stared at her, not catching the foreign words. "Is she talking about me?" "She said her mother was a Yoruba." Winston moved between them. "And she said something about a priest." "Is she some sort of priest? Is that what she said?" "No." Serina's English answer was quick and curt, then she said something else to Winston, in Portuguese. "She said she was not, though the women of her mother's family have practiced divination for many generations." "Divination?" Katherine studied him, puzzled. Then she turned back to Serina,"What do you mean by that?" Serina was looking at her now, for the first time. "Divination is the way the Yoruba people ask their gods to tell the future." "How exactly do they go about doing such a thing?" "Many ways." She turned back to the cauldron. Winston stood in the silence for a moment, then turned to Katherine. "I think one of the ways is with shells. In Brazil I once saw a Yoruba diviner shaking a tray with small sea-shells in it." Serina glanced back, now speaking English. "I see you are an Ingles who bothers to try and understand other peoples. One of the few I've ever met. _Felicitacao_, senhor, my compliments. Yes, that is one of the ways, and the most sacred to a Yoruba. It's called the divination of the sixteen cowrie shells. A Yoruba diviner foretells the will of the gods from how the shells lie in a tray after it has been shaken--by how many lie with the slotted side up. It's the way the gods talk to him." "Who are these gods they speak to?" Katherine found herself challenged by the mulatto's haughtiness. Serina continued to stir the cauldron. "You'd not know them, senhora." "But I would be pleased to hear of them." Katherine's voice was sharp, but then she caught herself and softened it. "Are they something like the Christian God?" Serina paused, examining Katherine for a moment, and then her eyes assumed a distant expression. "I do not know much about them. I know there is one god like the Christian God. He is the high god, who never shows his powers on earth. But there are many other gods who do. The one the Yoruba call on most is Shango, the god of thunder and lightning, and of fire. His symbol is the double-headed axe. There also is Ogun, who is the god of iron." She hesitated. "And the god of war." Katherine studied her. "Do you believe in all these African deities yourself?" "Who can say what's really true, senhora?" Her smooth skin glistened from the heat. She brushed the hair from her eyes in a graceful motion, as though she were in a drawing room, while her voice retreated again into formality. "The Yoruba even believe that many different things can be true at once. Something no European can ever understand." "There's something you may not understand, senhora," Winston interjected, speaking now in English. "And I think you well should. The Yoruba in this room also knows the language of the Portugals. Take care what you say." "It's not possible." She glanced at Atiba contemptuously, continuing loudly in Portuguese. "He's a saltwater _preto_. " Before Winston could respond, there was an eruption of shouts and curses from the direction of the mill. They all turned to watch as Benjamin Briggs shoved through the doorway, pointing at Atiba. "Get that one out here. I warrant he can make them understand." The sweltering room seemed frozen in time, except for Briggs, now motioning at Serina. "Tell him to come out here." He revolved to Winston. "I've a mind to flog all of them." "What's wrong?" "The damned mill. I doubled the size of the bundles, the very thing I should've done in the first place, but now the oxen can't turn it properly. I want to try hooking both oxen to one of the sweeps and a pair of Africans on the other. I've harnessed them up, but I can't get them to move." He motioned again for Atiba to accompany him. "This one's got more wit than all the rest together. Maybe I can show him what I want." Serina gestured toward Atiba, who followed Briggs out the door, into the fresh night air. Katherine stared after him for a moment, then turned back. Winston was speaking to Serina again in Portuguese, but too rapidly to follow. "Will you tell me one thing more?" "As you wish, senhor." She did not look up from the cauldron. "What was going on last night? With the drums?" She hesitated slightly. "I don't know what you mean." Winston was towering over her now. "I think you know very well what I mean, senhora. Now tell me, damn it. What were they saying?" She seemed not to hear him. Through the silence that filled the room, there suddenly came a burst of shouts from the direction of the mill. Katherine felt fear sweep over her, and she found herself seizing Winston's arm, pulling him toward the doorway. Outside, the planters were milling about in confusion, vague shadows against the torchlight. Then she realized Atiba was trying to wrench off the harness from the necks of the two blacks tied to the sweeps of the mill, while yelling at Briggs in his African language. She gripped Winston's arm tighter as she watched William Marlott, brandishing a heavy-bladed cane machete, move on Atiba. Then several other planters leapt out of the shadows, grabbed his powerful shoulders, and wrestled him to the ground. "You'd best flog him here and now." Marlott looked up, sweat running down his face. "It'll be a proper lesson to all the rest." Briggs nodded toward several of the white indentures and in moments a rope was lashed to Atiba's wrists. Then he was yanked against the mill, his face between the wet rollers. One of the indentures brought forward a braided leather horsewhip. Katherine turned her face away, back toward the boiling house, not wanting to see. Serina was standing in the doorway now, staring out blankly, a shimmering moistness in her eyes. Chapter Four For almost a month now, any night he could manage, Atiba had slipped unseen from the compound and explored the southern coast of the island, the shore and the upland hills. Now he was sure they could survive after the island became theirs. The _branco_, the white English, were savages, who destroyed all they touched, but there were still traces of what once had been. Between the fields of sterile cane he had found and tasted the fruits of the sacred earth. There were groves of wild figs, their dark fruit luscious and astringent, and plump coconuts, their tender core as rich as any in Yorubaland. Along the shore were stands of sea-grape trees, with a sweet purple fruit biting to the tongue. He had also found palm-like trees clustered with the tender papaya, and farther inland there were groves of banana and plantain. He had discovered other trees with large oranges, plump with yellow nectar, as well as pomegranates and tamarind just like those he had known in Ife, his home city. The soil itself gave forth moist melons, wild cucumbers, and the red apples of the prickly cactus. There also were calabash, the hard, round gourds the Ingles had already learned could be hollowed out for cups and basins. The only thing wanting was that staple of the Yoruba people, the yam. But they would not have to survive from the soil alone. In the thickets he had heard the grunts and squeals of the wild hogs, fat sows foraging nuts, leading their litters. Along the shore he had seen flocks of feeding egrets in the dawn light, ready to be snared and roasted, and at his feet there had been hundreds of land crabs, night prowlers as big as two hands, ripe for boiling as they scurried back to their sand burrows along the shore. He could not understand why the _branco _slaves who worked alongside the Yoruba allowed themselves to be fed on boiled corn mush. A natural bounty lay within arm's reach. The Orisa, those forces in nature that work closest with man, were still present on the island. He could sense them, waiting in the wood of the trees. This ravished place had once been a great forest, like the one north of Ife, and it could be again. If the hand of the Ingles was taken from it, and the spirit of the Orisa, its rightful protectors, freed once more. The first cooing of the wood dove sounded through the thatched hut, above the chorus of whistling frogs from the pond, signaling the approach of day. Atiba sat motionless in the graying light, crosslegged, at the edge of the mud seat nearest the door, and studied the sixteen cowrie shells as they spun across the reed tray that lay before him. As he watched, eight of the small ovals came to rest mouth up, in a wide crescent, the remainder facing down. The tiny room was crowded with the men of the Yoruba, their cotton loincloths already drenched with sweat from the early heat. Now all eyes narrowed in apprehension, waiting for this _babalawo_, the priest of the Yoruba, to speak and interpret the verses that revealed the message in the cowries. _Bi a ko jiya ti o kun agbon _If we do not bear suffering that will fill a basket, _A ko le jore to kun inu aha _We will not receive kindness that will fill a cup. He paused and signaled the tall, bearded drummer waiting by the door. The man's name was Obewole, and he had once been, many rains ago, the strongest drummer in the entire city of Ife. He nodded and shifted the large drum--the Yoruba _iya ilu_--that hung at his waist, suspended from a wide shoulder strap. Abruptly the small wooden mallet he held began to dance across the taut goatskin. The verses Atiba had just spoken were repeated exactly, the drum's tone changing in pitch and timbre as Obewole squeezed the cords down its hourglass waist between his arm and his side. Moments later there came the sound of more drums along the length of the southern coast, transmitting his verses inland. In less than a minute all the Yoruba on Barbados had heard their _babalawo's _exact words. Then he said something more and shook the tray again. This time five cowries lay open, set as a star. Again he spoke, his eyes far away. _A se'gi oko ma we oko _The tree that swims like a canoe, _A s'agada ja'ri erin _The sword that will cut iron. Once more the drum sent the words over the morning quiet of the island. Atiba waited a few moments longer, then slowly looked up and surveyed the expectant faces around him. The shells had spoken, true enough, but the message of the gods was perplexing. Seemingly Shango had counseled endurance, while Ogun foretold war. He alone was priest, and he alone could interpret this contradictory reading. He knew in his heart what the gods wanted, what they surely must want. Still, the realization brought painful memories. He knew too well what war would mean. He had seen it many times--the flash of mirrored steel in the sunlight, the blood of other men on your hands, the deaths of wise fathers and strong sons. The worst had been when he and his warriors had stood shoulder to shoulder defending the ancient royal compound at Ife with their lives, when the Fulani from the north had breached the high walls of the city and approached the very entrance of the ruling Oba's palace, those huge sculptured doors guarded by the two sacred bronze leopards. That day he and his men had lost more strong warriors than there were women to mourn them, but by nightfall they had driven out the worshippers of other gods who would take their lands, pillage their compounds, carry away their seed-yams and their youngest wives. He also knew there could be betrayal. He had seen it during the last season of rains, when the drums had brought news of strangers in the southeastern quarter of the world that was Yorubaland. He and his men had left their compounds and marched all day through the rain. That night, among the trees, they had been fallen upon by Benin slavers, men of black skin who served the _branco _as a woman serves the payer of her bride-price. But the men of the Yoruba would never be made to serve. Their gods were too powerful, their ancestors too proud. The Yoruba were destined to rule. Just as they had governed Yorubaland for a thousand years. Theirs was an ancient and noble people, nothing like the half-civilized Ingles on this island. In the great metropolis of Ife, surrounded by miles of massive concentric walls, the Yoruba had lived for generations in wide family compounds built of white clay, their courtyards open to light and air, walking streets paved with brick and stone, wearing embroidered robes woven of finest cotton, sculpting lost-wax bronzes whose artistry no Ingles could even imagine. They did not swelter in patched-together log huts like the Ingles planters here, or in thatched hovels like the Ingles planters' servants. And they paid reverence to gods whose power was far greater than any _branco_ had ever seen. "The sky has no shadow. It reaches out in all directions to the edge of the world. In it are the sun, the moon, all that is." He paused, waiting for the drums, then continued. "I have gone out into the dark, the void that is night, and I have returned unharmed. I say the Orisa are here, strong. We must make war on the branco to free them once more." He paused again. "No man's day of death can be postponed. It is already known to all the gods. There is nothing we need fear." After the drums had sent his words across the island, the hut fell quiet. Then there came a voice from a small, wizened man sitting on Atiba's left, a Yoruba older than the rest, with sweat pouring down the wrinkles of his long dark face. "You are of royal blood, Atiba. Your father Balogun was one of the sixteen royal _babalawo _of the Oba of Ife, one of the great Awoni. It was he who taught you his skills." He cleared his throat, signifying his importance. "Yet I say you now speak as one who has drunk too many horns of palm wine. We are only men. Ogun will not come forth to carry our shields." "Old Tahajo, you who are the oldest and wisest here tonight, you know full well I am but a man." Atiba paused, to demonstrate deference. He was chagrined that this elder who now honored his hut had to sit directly on the mud seat, that there was no buffalo skin to take down off the wall for him as there would have been in a compound at Ife. "Though the gods allow me to read their words in the cowries, I still eat the food a woman cooks." "I know you are a man, son of Balogun, and the finest ever sired in Ife. I knew you even before you grew of age, before you were old enough to tie a cloth between your legs. I was there the day your clan marks were cut in your cheek, those three proud lines that mark you the son of your father. Be his son now, but speak to us today as a man, not as _babalawo_. Let us hear your own voice." Atiba nodded and set aside the tray. Then he turned back to the drummer and reached for his gleaming machete. "Since Tahajo wishes it, we will wait for another time to consult more with Ogun and Shango. Now I will hold a sword and speak simply, as a man." Obewole nodded and picked up the mallet. "This island was once ruled by the Orisa of the forest. But now there is only cane. Its sweetness is bitter in the mouths of the gods, for it has stolen their home. I say we must destroy it. To do this we will call down the fire of lightning that Shango guards in the sky." "How can we call down Shango's fire?" The old man spoke again. None of the others in the cramped hut dared question Atiba so boldly. "No man here is consecrated to Shango. We are all warriors, men of Ogun. His power is only over the earth, not the skies." "I believe there is one on this island whose lineage is Shango. A woman. Perhaps she no longer even knows it. But through her we will reach him." He turned and signaled Obewole to ready the drum. "Now I will speak. Hear me. Shango's spirit is here, on this island. He will help us take away the strength of the Ingles." He paused for the drums, then continued, "I learned on the ship that before the next new moon there will be many more of us here. The other warriors who were betrayed by the Benin traitors will be with us again. Then we will take out the fire of Shango that the Ingles hold prisoner in the boiling house and release it in the night, among the fields of cane. We will burn the compounds of the Ingles and take their muskets. Then we will free the white slaves. They are too craven to free themselves, but they will not stand with their _branco _masters." He turned again to Obewole and nodded. "Send the words." Winston shifted uneasily in his sleep, then bolted upright, rubbing the slight ache of his scar as he became aware of the distant spatter of drums. They were sporadic, but intense. Patterns were being repeated again and again all down the coast. He slipped from the bed and moved quietly to the slatted window, to listen more closely. But now the drums had fallen silent. The only sounds left in the sweltering predawn air were the cooing of wood doves and the harsh "quark" of egrets down by the bridge, accompanied by Joan's easy snores. He looked back and studied her face again, realizing that time was beginning to take its toll. He also knew he didn't care, though he figured she did, mightily. She'd never concede he could take Jamaica. Maybe she was right. But odds be damned. It was time to make a stand. Jamaica. He thought about it again, his excitement swelling. Enough cannon, and the Spaniards could never retake it, never even get a warship into the harbor. It was perfect. A place of freedom that would strike a blow against forced labor throughout the New World. Not a minute too soon either. The future was clear as day. The English settlers in the Caribbees were about to install what had to be the most absolute system of human slavery ever seen. Admittedly, finding sufficient men and women to work the fields had always been the biggest impediment to developing the virgin lands of the Americas, especially for settlements that wanted to grow money crops for export. But now Barbados had discovered Africans. What next? If slavery proved it could work for sugar in the Caribbees, then it probably would also be instituted for cotton and tobacco in Virginia. Agricultural slavery had started here, but soon it would doubtless be introduced wholesale into North America. Christians, perpetrating the most unspeakable crime against humanity possible. Who knew what it would someday lead to? He no longer asked himself why he detested slavery so much, but there was a reason, if he'd wanted to think about it. A man was a man. Seeing Briggs horsewhip his Yoruba was too similar to watching Ruyters flog his seamen. He had tasted the cat-o'-nine-tails himself more than once. In fact, whipping the Yoruba was almost worse, since a seaman could always jump ship at the next port. But a slave, especially on a small island like Barbados, had nowhere to go. No escape. Not yet. But come the day Jamaica was his . . . "Are you all right, love?" Joan had awakened and was watching him. "I was listening to the drums. And thinking." He did not turn. "Those damned drums. Every morning. Why don't the planters put a halt to it?" She raised up and swabbed her face with the rough cotton sheet. "God curse this heat." "I'm tired of all of it. Particularly slavery." "I fancy these Africans are not your worry. You'd best be rethinking this daft scheme of yours with the indentures." "That's on schedule. The Council agreed to the terms, drew up a list of men, and I picked the ones I wanted." "What're you thinkin' to do about ordnance?" Skepticism permeated her groggy voice. "I've got a batch of new flintlocks on the _Defiance_. Generously supplied to me by Anthony Walrond's trading company." He laughed. "In grateful appreciation for helping out that frigate of theirs that went aground up by Nevis Island." "I heard about that. I also hear he'd like those muskets back." "He can see me in hell about that." He was strolling back toward the bed, nude in the early light. She admired the hard ripple of his chest, the long, muscular legs. "Also, I've got the boys at work making some half-pikes. We've set up a forge down by the bay." "And what, pray, are you expectin' to use for pikestaffs?" "We're having to cut palm stalks." He caught her look. "I know. But what can I do? There's no cured wood to be had on this short a notice." "Lo, what an army you'll have." She laughed wryly. "Do you really think all those indentures will fight?" "For their freedom, yes." He settled onto the bed. "That's what I'm counting on." "Well, you're counting wrong, love. Most of them don't care a damn for anything, except maybe drinkin' in the shade. Believe me, I know them." "I'll give them something to fight for. It won't be like here, where they're worked to death, then turned out to starve." "I could tell you a few stories about human nature that might serve to enlighten you." She stretched back and pulled up her shift to rub a mosquito bite on her thigh. "If it was me, I'd be trying to get hold of some of these Africans. From the scars I've seen on a few of them, I'd say they've done their share of fighting. On my faith, they scare the wits half out of me." "They make me uneasy too." "How do you mean, darlin'?" "All these drums we've been hearing. I found out in Brazil the Yoruba there can talk somehow with a special kind of drum they've got, one that looks like a big hourglass. I figure those here can do it too, only nobody realizes it. Let me tell you, Joan, there was plenty of Yoruba talk this morning. So far, the Africans here are considerably outnumbered, but if they start a revolt, the indentures might decide to rise up too. Then . . ." "Some indentures here tried a little uprising once, a couple of years back. And about a dozen got hanged for their pains. I don't fancy they'll try it again soon." "Don't be so sure. Remember how the Irish indentures went over to the Spaniards that time they attacked the English settlement up on Nevis Island? They swam out to the Spaniards' frigates, hailed them as fellow Papists, and then told them exactly where all the fortifications were." "But how many of these Africans are there here now? Probably not all that many." "Maybe not yet. With the Dutch slavers that've come so far, I'd guess there're no more than a couple of thousand or so. But there're more slave ships coming every week. Who knows what'll happen when there're three or four thousand, or more?" "It'll not happen soon. How can it?" She slipped her arms around his neck and drew him down next to her. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me how you plan to take Jamaica. God's life, I still don't know why you'd want to try doing it at all." "You're just afraid I can't do it." He turned and kissed her, then pulled down the top of her shift and nipped at one of her exposed breasts. "Tell me the truth." "Maybe I will someday. If you get back alive." She took his face in her hands and lifted it away. "By the bye, I hear you had a fine time at the ball. Dancin' with that jade." "Who?" "You know who, you whoremaster. The high and mighty Miss Bedford." "I'd had a bit to drink. I don't precisely recall what all happened." "Don't you now? Well, some of the Council recall that evening well enough, you can be sure. You weren't too drunk to scare the wits out of them with those Spanish pistols. It's the talk of the island." She watched as he returned his mouth to her breast and began to tease the nipple with his tongue. "Now listen to me. That little virgin's no good for you. For one thing, I hear she's supposed to be marryin' our leading royalist, Sir Anthony, though I swear I don't know what he sees in her. She's probably happier ridin' her horse than being with a man. I warrant she'd probably as soon be a man herself." "I don't want to hear any more about Miss Bedford." He slipped an arm beneath her and drew her up next to him. "I've got something else in mind." She trailed her hand down his chest to his groin. Then she smiled. "My, but that's promisin'." "There's always apt to be room for improvement. If you set your mind to it." "God knows, I've spoiled you." She leaned over and kissed his thigh, then began to tease him with her tongue. Without a word he shifted around and brushed the stubble of his cheeks against her loins. She was already moist, from sweat and desire. "God, that's why I always let you come back." She moved against him with a tiny shudder. "When by rights I should know better. Sometimes I think I taught you too well what pleases me." "I know something else you like even better." He seized a plump down pillow and stationed it in the middle of the bed, then started to reach for her. She was assessing her handiwork admiringly. He was ready, the way she wanted him. "Could be." She drew herself above him. "But you can't always be havin' everything your own way. You've got me feelin' too randy this mornin'. So now I'm going to show you why your frustrated virgin, Miss Bedford, fancies ridin' that horse of hers so much." Serina was already awake before the drums started. Listening intently to catch the soft cadence of the verses, she repeated them silently, knowing they meant the cowrie shells had been cast. It was madness. Benjamin Briggs sometimes called her to his room in the mornings, but she knew there would be no call today. He had ordered her from his bed just after midnight, drunk and cursing about a delay at the sugar mill. Who had cast the cowries? Was it the tall, strong one named Atiba? Could it be he was also a Yoruba _babalawo_? She had heard the verses for the cowries once before, years ago in Brazil. There were thousands, which her mother had recited for her all in one week, the entire canon. Even now she still remembered some of them, just a few. Her mother had never admitted to anybody else she knew the verses, since women weren't supposed to cast the cowries. The men of the Yoruba always claimed the powers of the cowries were too great for any save a true _babalawo_, and no woman would ever be permitted to be that. Women were only allowed to consult the gods by casting the four quarters of the kola nut, which only foretold daily matters. Important affairs of state were reserved for the cowries, and for men. But her mother had secretly learned the verses; she'd never said how. She'd even promised to explain them one day, but that day never came. When she was sure the drums had finished, she rose slowly from the sweltering pallet that served as her bed and searched the floor in the half-dark till she felt the smooth cotton of her shift. She slipped it on, then began brushing her long gleaming hair, proud even now that it had always been straight, like a Portuguese _donna's_. She slept alone in a small room next to the second-floor landing of the back stairway, the one by the kitchen that was used by servants. When she had finished with her hair and swirled it into a high bun, Portuguese style, she slowly pushed open the slatted jalousies to study the clutter of the compound. As always, she found herself comparing this haphazard English house to the mansion she had known in Brazil, on the large plantation outside Pernambuco. Now it seemed a memory from another world, that dazzling white room she had shared with her mother in the servants' compound. The day the senhor de engenho, the master of the plantation, announced that she would go to the black-robed Jesuits' school, instead of being put to work in the fields like most of the other slave children, her mother had begun to cry. For years she had thought they were tears of joy. Then the next day her mother had started work on their room. She had whitewashed the walls, smeared a fresh layer of hard clay on the floor, then planted a small frangipani tree by the window. During the night its tiny red blossoms would flood their room with a sweet, almost cloying fragrance, so they woke every morning to a day bathed in perfume. Years later her mother had confessed the beautiful room and the perfume of the tree were intended to always make her want to return there from the foul rooms of the _branco _and their priests. She remembered those early years best. Her mother would rise before dawn, then wake the old, gnarled Ashanti slave who was the cook for the household, ordering the breakfast the senhor had specified the night before. Then she would walk quietly down to the slave quarters to waken the gang driver, who would rouse the rest of the plantation with his bell. Next she would return to their room and brush her beautiful _mulata _daughter's hair, to keep it always straight and shining, in preparation for the trip to the mission school the priests had built two miles down the road. Serina still recalled the barefoot walk down that long, tree-lined roadway, and her mother's command, repeated every morning, to never let the sun touch her light skin. Later she would wander slowly back through the searing midday heat, puzzling over the new language called Spanish she was learning, and the strange teachings of the Christians. The priests had taught her to read from the catechism, and to write out the stories they told of the Catholic saints--stories her mother demanded she repeat to her each night. She would then declare them lies, and threaten her with a dose of the purgative physic-nut to expel their poisons. Her mother would sometimes stroke her soft skin and explain that the Christians' false God must have been copied from Olorun, the Yoruba high god and deity of the cosmos. It was well known he was the universal spirit who had created the world, the only god who had never lived on earth. Perhaps the Christians had somehow heard of him and hoped to steal him for their own. He was so powerful that the other gods were all his children--Shango, Ogun, all the Yoruba deities of the earth and rivers and sky. The Yoruba priests had never been known to mention a white god called Jesu. But she had learned many things from Jesu's priests. The most important was that she was a slave. Owned by the senhor de engenho. She was his property, as much as his oxen and his fields of cane. That was the true lesson of the priests. A lesson she had never forgotten. These new saltwater Yoruba were fools. Their life and soul belonged to the _branco _now. And only the _branco _could give it back. You could never take it back yourself. There was nothing you could do to make your life your own again. She recalled a proverb of the Ashanti people. "A slave does not choose his master." A slave chose nothing. She found herself thinking again of her mother. She was called Dara, the Yoruba name meaning "beautiful." And she was beautiful, beyond words, with soft eyes and delicate skin and high cheekbones. Her mother Dara had told her how she had been taken to the bed of her Portuguese owner after only a week in Brazil. He was the _senhor de engenho_, who had sired mulata bastards from the curing house to the kitchen. They were all still slaves, but her mother had thought her child would be different. She thought the light-skinned girl she bore the _branco _would be made free. And she had chosen a Yoruba name for her. The _senhor de engenho _had decided to name her Serina, one night while drunk. A slave chose nothing. Dara's mulata daughter also was not given her freedom. Instead that daughter was taken into the master's house: taught to play the lute and dance the galliards of Joao de Sousa Carvalho when she was ten, given an orange petticoat and a blue silk mantle when she was twelve, and taken to his bed the day she was fourteen. Her own father. He had used her as his property for eight years, then sold her to a stinking Englishman. She later learned it was for the princely sum of a hundred pounds. A slave chose nothing. Still, something in the _Defiance_ of Atiba stirred her. He was bold. And handsome, even though a _preto_. She had watched his strong body with growing desire those two days they were together in the boiling house. She had begun to find herself wanting to touch him, to tame his wildness inside her. For a moment he had made her regret she had vowed long ago never to give herself to a _preto_. She was half white, and if ever she had a child, that child would be whiter still. To be white was to be powerful and free. She also would make certain her child was Christian. The Christian God was probably false, but in this world the Christians held everything. They owned the Yoruba. The Yoruba gods of her mother counted for nothing. Not here, not in the New World. She smiled resignedly and thought once more of Atiba. He would have to learn that too, for all his strength and his pride, just as she had. He could call on Ogun to tell him the future, but that god would be somewhere out of hearing if he tried to war against the _branco_. She had seen it all before in Brazil. There was no escape. A slave chose nothing. Could he be made to understand that? Or would that powerful body one day be hanged and quartered for leading a rebellion that could only fail? Unsure why she should bother, yet unable to stop herself, she turned from the window and quietly headed down the creaking, makeshift rear stair. Then she slipped past the kitchen door and onto the stone steps leading out into the back of the compound. It was still quiet, with only the occasional cackle of Irish laughter from the kitchen, whose chimney now threaded a line of wood smoke into the morning air. The gate opened silently and easily--the indenture left to guard it was snoring, still clasping an empty flask--and she was out onto the pathway leading down the hill to the new thatched huts of the slaves. The path was quiet and gray-dark. Green lizards scurried through the grass around her and frogs whistled among the palms, but there was no sign the indentures were awake yet. In the distance she could hear the low voice of Atiba, lecturing courage to his brave Yoruba warriors. The _preto _fools. She knew a woman would not be welcome, would be thought to "defile" their solemn council of war. Let them have their superstitions. This was the New World. Africa was finished for them. They weren't Yoruba warriors now. Here they were just more _preto _slaves, for all their posturing. Once more she was glad she had been raised a Portuguese, not a Yoruba woman bound to honor and revere whatever vain man she had been given to as wife. As she neared the first hut, she stopped to look and shake her head sadly. What would the slaves in Brazil think of these thatched hovels? She knew. They would laugh and ridicule the backwardness of these saltwater _preto_, who knew nothing of European ways. Then she noticed a new drum, a small one only just finished, that had been left out for the sun to dry. She had heard once what these special drums were for. They were used in ceremonies, when the men and women danced and somehow were entered and possessed by the gods. But there were no Yoruba women on Briggs' plantation. He had not bothered to buy any yet, since men could cut cane faster. She wanted to smile when she realized the Yoruba men here had to cook their own food, a humiliation probably even greater than slavery, but the smile died on her lips when she realized the drum was just a sad relic of a people torn apart. She examined the drum, recalling the ones she had seen in Brazil. Its wood was reddish and the skins were tied taut with new white cords. She smoothed her hand against her shift, then picked it up and nestled it under her arm, feeling the coolness of the wood. She remembered the goat skin could be tuned by squeezing the cords along the side. Carefully she picked up the curved wooden mallet used to play it and, gripping the drum tightly against her body, tapped it once, twice, to test the fluctuation in pitch as she pressed the cords. The sharp, almost human sound brought another rush of memories of Brazil, nights when she had slipped away to the slave quarters and sat at the feet of a powerful old_ babalawo_, an ancient Yoruba priest who had come to be scorned by most of the newly baptized slaves. She was too young then to know that a _mulata _did not associate with black _preto_, that a _mulata _occupied a class apart. And above. She had listened breathlessly night after starry night as he spun out ancient Yoruba legends of the goddess Oshun--who he said was the favorite wife of Shango. Then he would show her how to repeat the story back to him using just the talking drum. She looked toward the gathering in the far hut, thinking again of the verses of the cowries. Holding the drum tightly, she began to play the curved stick across the skin. The words came easily. _A se were lo nko _You are learning to be a fool. _O ko ko ogbon _You do not learn wisdom. She laughed to herself as she watched the startled faces of the Yoruba men emerging from the thatched hut. After a moment, she saw Atiba move out onto the pathway to stare in her direction. She set the drum onto the grass and stared back. He was approaching now, and the grace of his powerful stride again stirred something, a desire she had first felt those nights in the boiling house. What would it be like, she wondered again, to receive a part of his power for her own? Though his face declared his outrage, she met his gaze with _Defiance_- -a _mulata _need never be intimidated by a _preto_. She continued to watch calmly as he moved directly up the path to where she stood. Without a word he seized the drum, held it skyward for a moment, then dashed it against a tree stump. Several of the partly healed lash marks on his back opened from the violence of the swing. He watched in satisfaction as the wood shattered, leaving a clutter of splinters, cords, and skin. Then he revolved toward her. "A _branco _woman does not touch a Yoruba drum." Branco. She had never heard herself referred to before as "white." But she had always wanted to. Always. Yet now . . . now he spat it out, almost as though it meant "unclean." "A _branco _woman may do as she pleases." She glared back at him. "That's one of the first things you will have to learn on this island." "I have nothing to learn from you. Soon, perhaps, you may learn from me." "You've only begun to learn." She felt herself turning on him, bitterly. She could teach him more than he ever dreamed. But why? "You'll soon find out that you're a _preto_. Perhaps you still don't know what that means. The _branco_ rule this island. They always will. And they own you." "You truly are a _branco_. You may speak our tongue, but there is nothing left of your Yoruba blood. It has long since drained away." "As yours will soon. To water the cane on this island, if you try to rise up against the _branco_. " "I can refuse to submit." The hardness in his eyes aroused her. Was it desperation? Or pride? "And you'll die for it." "Then I will die. If the _branco _kills me today, he cannot kill me again tomorrow. And I will die free." He fixed her with his dark gaze, and the three Yoruba clan marks on his cheek seemed etched in ebony. Then he turned back toward the hut and the waiting men. "Someday soon, perhaps, I will show you what freedom means." Chapter Five Katherine held on to the mizzenmast shrouds, shielding her eyes against the glitter of sun on the bay, and looked at Hugh Winston. He was wearing the identical shabby leather jerkin and canvas breeches she remembered from that first morning, along with the same pair of pistols shoved into his belt. He certainly made no effort to present a dignified appearance. Also, the afternoon light made you notice even more the odd scar across one weathered cheek. What would he be like as a lover? Probably nothing so genteel as Anthony Walrond. Good God, she thought, what would Anthony, and poor Jeremy, say if they learned I came down here to the _Defiance_, actually sought out this man they hate so much. They'd probably threaten to break off marriage negotiations, out of spite. But if something's not done, she told herself, none of that's going to matter anyway. If the rumor from London is true, then Barbados is going to be turned upside down. Hugh Winston can help us, no matter what you choose to think of him. She reflected on Winston's insulting manner and puzzled why she had actually half looked forward to seeing him again. He certainly had none of Anthony's breeding, yet there was something magnetic about a man so rough and careless. Still, God knows, finding him a little more interesting than most of the dreary planters on this island scarcely meant much. Was he, she found herself wondering, at all attracted to her? Possibly. If he thought on it at all, he'd see their common ground. She finally realized he despised the Puritans and their slaves as much as she did. And, like her, he was alone. It was a bond between them, whether he knew it now or not. . . . Then all at once she felt the fear again, that tightness under her bodice she had pushed away no more than half an hour past, when her mare had reached the rim of the hill, the last curve of the rutted dirt road leading down to the bay. She'd reined in Coral, still not sure she had the courage to go and see Winston. While her mare pawed and tugged at the traces, she took a deep breath and watched as a gust of wind sent the blood-red blossoms from a grove of cordia trees fleeing across the road. Then she'd noticed the rush of scented air off the sea, the wide vista of Carlisle Bay spreading out below, the sky full of tiny colored birds flitting through the azure afternoon. Yes, she'd told herself, it's worth fighting for, worth jeopardizing everything for. Even worth going begging to Hugh Winston for. It's my home. "Do you ever miss England, living out here in the Caribbees?" She tried to hold her voice nonchalant, with a lilt intended to suggest that none of his answers mattered all that much. Though the afternoon heat was sweltering, she had deliberately put on her most feminine riding dress- -a billowing skirt tucked up the side to reveal a ruffle of petticoat and a bodice with sleeves slashed to display the silk smock beneath. She'd even had the servants iron it specially. Anthony always noticed it, and Winston had too, though he was trying to pretend otherwise. "I remember England less and less." He sipped from his tankard--he had ordered a flask of sack brought up from the Great Cabin just after she came aboard--and seemed to be studying the sun's reflection in its amber contents. "The Americas are my home now, for better or worse. England doesn't really exist for me anymore." She looked at him and decided Jeremy had been right; the truth was he'd probably be hanged if he returned. He paused a moment, then continued, "And you, Miss Bedford, have you been back?" "Not since we left, when I was ten. We went first to Bermuda, where father served for two years as governor and chief officer for the Sommers Island Company. Then we came down here. I don't really even think of England much anymore. I feel I'm a part of the Americas now too." She shaded her face against the sun with one hand and noticed a bead of sweat trickling down her back, along the laces of her bodice. "In truth, I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever see England again." "I'd just as soon never see it again." He rose and strolled across the deck, toward the steering house. Then he settled his tankard on the binnacle and began to loosen the line securing the whipstaff, a long lever used for controlling the rudder. "Do you really want to stay aboard while I take her out?" "You've done it every day this week, just around sunset. I've watched you from the hill, and wondered why." She casually adjusted her bodice, to better emphasize the plump fullness of her breasts, then suddenly felt a surge of dismay with herself, that she would consider resorting to tawdry female tricks. But desperate times brought out desperate measures. "Besides, you've got the only frigate in the bay now that's not Dutch, and I thought I'd like to see the island from offshore. I sometimes forget how beautiful it is." "Then you'd best take a good, long look, Miss Bedford," he replied matter-of-factly. "It's never going to be the same again, not after sugar takes over." "Katherine. You can call me Katherine." She tried to mask the tenseness--no, the humiliation--in her voice. "I'm sufficiently compromised just being down here; there's scarcely any point in ceremony." "Then Katherine it is, Miss Bedford." Again scarcely a glimmer of notice as he busied himself coiling the line. But she saw John Mewes raise his heavy eyebrows as he mounted the quarterdeck companionway, his wide belly rolling with each labored step. Winston seemed to ignore the quartermaster as he continued, "Since you've been watching, then I suppose you know what to expect. We're going to tack her out of the harbor, over to the edge of those reefs just off Lookout Point. Then we'll come about and take her up the west side of the island, north all the way up to Speightstown. It's apt to be at least an hour. Don't say you weren't warned." Perfect, she thought. Just the time I'll need. "You seem to know these waters well." It was rhetorical, just to keep him talking. Hugh Winston had sailed up the coast every evening for a week, regardless of the wind or state of the sea. He obviously understood the shoreline of Barbados better than anyone on the island. That was one of the reasons she was here. "You sail out every day." "Part of my final preparations, Miss Bedford . . . Katherine." He turned to the quartermaster. "John." "Aye." Mewes had been loitering by the steeringhouse, trying to stay in the shade as he eyed the opened flask of sack. Winston had not offered him a tankard. "Weigh anchor. I want to close-haul that new main course one more time, then try a starboard tack." "Aye, as you will." He strode gruffly to the quarterdeck railing and bellowed orders forward to the bow. The quiet was broken by a slow rattle as several shirtless seamen began to haul in the cable with the winch. They chattered in a medley of languages--French, Portuguese, English, Dutch. She watched as the anchor broke through the waves and was hoisted onto the deck. Next Mewes yelled orders aloft. Moments later the mainsail dropped and began to blossom in the breeze. The _Defiance _heeled slowly into the wind, then began to edge past the line of Dutch merchantmen anchored along the near shoreline. Winston studied the sail for a few moments. "What do you think, John? She looks to be holding her luff well enough." "I never liked it, Cap'n. I've made that plain from the first. So I'm thinkin' the same as always. You've taken a fore-and-aft rigged brigantine, one of the handiest under Christian sail, and turned her into a square-rigger. We'll not have the handling we've got with the running rigging." Mewes spat toward the railing and shoved past Katherine, still astonished that Winston had allowed her to come aboard, governor's daughter or no. It's ill luck, he told himself. A fair looker, that I'll grant you, but if it's doxies we'd be taking aboard now, I can think of plenty who'd be fitter company. He glanced at the white mare tethered by the shore, wishing she were back astride it and gone. Half the time you see her, the wench is riding like a man, not sidesaddle like a woman was meant to. "If we're going to make Jamaica harbor without raising the Spaniards' militia, we'll have to keep short sail." Winston calmly dismissed his objections. "That means standing rigging only. No tops'ls or royals." "Aye, and she'll handle like a gaff-sailed lugger." "Just for the approach. While we land the men. We'll keep her rigged like always for the voyage over." He maneuvered the whipstaff to start bringing the stern about, sending a groan through the hull. "She seems to work well enough so far. We need to know exactly how many points off the wind we can take her. I'd guess about five, maybe six, but we've got to find out now." He turned back to Katherine and caught her eyes. They held something-- what was it? Almost an invitation? But that's not why she's here, he told himself. This woman's got a purpose in mind, all right. Except it's not you. Whatever it is, though, the looks of her'd almost make you wonder if she's quite so set on marrying some stiff royalist as she thinks she is? Don't be a fool. The last thing you need to be thinking about now is a woman. Given the news, there's apt to be big trouble ahead here, and soon. You've got to be gone. "So perhaps you'd care to tell me . . . Katherine, to what I owe the pleasure of this afternoon's visit. I'd venture you've probably seen the western coast of this island a few hundred times before, entirely without my aid." "I was wondering if you'd heard what's happened in London?" She held on to the shrouds, the spider-web of ropes that secured the mast, and braced herself against the roll of the ship as the _Defiance_ eased broadside to the sun. Along the curving shoreline a string of Dutch merchantmen were riding at anchor, all three-masted fluyts, their fore and main masts steeped far apart to allow room for a capacious hatch. In the five weeks that had passed since the _Zeelander _put in with the first cargo of Africans, four more slavers had arrived. They were anchored across the bay now, their round sterns glistening against the water as the afternoon light caught the gilding on their high, narrow after-structure. Riding in the midst of them was the _Rotterdam_, just put in from London. The sight of that small Dutch merchantman had brought back her fear. It also renewed her resolve. "You mean about King Charles? I heard, probably before you did." He was watching her tanned face, and secretly admiring her courage. She seemed to be taking the situation calmly. "I was working down here yesterday when the _Rotterdam _put in." "Then I'd like your version. What exactly did you hear?" "Probably what everybody else heard. They brought word England's new 'Rump' Parliament, that mob of bloodthirsty Puritans installed by Cromwell's army, has locked King Charles in the Tower, with full intentions to chop off his head. They also delivered the story that Parliament has declared Barbados a nest of rebels, since your Assembly has never recognized the Commonwealth. Virginia and Bermuda also made that select list of outcasts." He glanced toward the bow, then tested the steering lever. "So, Miss Katherine Bedford, I'd say the Americas are about to see those stormy times we talked about once. Only it's a gale out of England, not here." He turned and yelled forward, "John, reef the foresail as we double the Point. Then prepare to take her hard about to starboard." She watched as he shoved the steering lever to port, flipping the rudder to maneuver around the reefs at the edge of the bay, then reached for his pewter tankard, its sides dark with grease. And she tried to stifle her renewed disgust with him, his obvious unconcern, as she watched him drink. Maybe it really was all a game to him. Maybe nothing could make him care a damn after all. In the silence that followed, the creaks of the weathered planking along the deck grew louder, more plaintive. "Given some of that may be true, Captain, what do you think will happen now?" "Just call me Hugh. I presume I can enjoy my fair share of Barbados' democracy. While it lasts." He shrugged. "Since you asked, I'll tell you. I think it means the end of everything we know about the Americas. Breathe the air of independence while you still can. Maybe you didn't hear the other story going around the harbor here. The Dutchmen are claiming that after Parliament gets around to beheading the king, it plans to take over all the patents granted by the Crown. It's supposedly considering a new law called a 'Navigation Act,' which is going to decree that only English bottoms can trade with the American settlements. No Hollanders. That means the end of free trade. There's even talk in London that a fleet of warships may head this way to enforce it." "I've heard that too. It sounds like nothing more than a Thames rumor." "Did you know that right now all the Dutchmen here are lading as fast as they can, hoping they can put to sea before they're blockaded, or sunk, by a score of armed English men-of-war?" "Nobody in the Assembly thinks Cromwell would go that far." "Well, the Dutchmen do. Whatever else you might say, a Hollander's about the last man I'd call a fool. I can tell you Carlisle Bay is a convocation of nervous Netherlanders right now." He squinted against the sun. "And I'll pass along something else, Katherine. They're not the only ones. I'd just as soon be at sea myself, with my men." She examined him, her eyes ironic. "So I take it while you're not afraid to stand up to the Council, men with pistols practically at your head, you're still worried about some navy halfway around the world." "The difference is that the Council owed me money." He smiled wanly. "With England, it's more like the other way around." "That's not the real reason, is it?" "All right, how's this? For all we know, their navy may not be halfway around the world anymore." He glanced at the sun, then checked the sail again. "It's no state secret I'm not Mother England's favorite son. The less I see of the English navy, the happier I'll be." "What'll you do if a fleet arrives while you're still here?" "I'll worry about it then." He turned back. "A better question might be what does Barbados plan to do if a fleet arrives to blockade you and force you into line." His voice grew sober. "I'd say this island faces a difficult choice. If Parliament goes ahead and does away with the king, the way some of its hotheads reportedly want to, then there'll no longer be any legal protection for you at all. Word of this new sugar project has already gotten back to London, you can be sure. I'd suspect the Puritans who've taken over Parliament want the American colonies because they'd like a piece of Barbados' sudden new fortune for themselves. New taxes for Commons and new trade for English shippers. Now that you're about to be rich here, your years of being ignored are over." He lifted the tankard and took another drink of sack. "So what are you going to do? Submit? Or declare war on Parliament and fight the English navy?" "If everybody here pulls together, we can resist them." "With what?" He turned and pointed toward the small stone fortress atop Lookout Point. The hill stood rocky and remote above the blue Caribbean. "Not with that breastwork, you won't. I doubt a single gun up there's ever been set and fired. What's more, I'd be surprised if there're more than a dozen trained gunners on the whole of the island, since the royalist refugees here were mostly officers back home. The way things stand now, you don't have a chance." "Then we'll have to learn to fight, won't we?" She tried to catch his eye. "I suppose you know something about gunnery." "Gunners are most effective when they've got some ordnance to use." He glanced back, then thumbed toward the Point. "What's in place up there?" "I think there're about a dozen cannon. And there're maybe that many more at the Jamestown breastwork. So the leeward coast is protected. There's also a breastwork at Oistins Bay, on the south." She paused, studying his profile against the sun. An image rose up unbidden of him commanding a battery of guns, her at his side. It was preposterous yet exhilarating. "Those are the places an invasion would come, aren't they?" "They're the only sections of shoreline where the surf's light enough for a troop ship to put in." "Then we've got a line of defense. Don't you think it's enough?" "No." He spoke quietly. "You don't have the heavy ordnance to stop a landing. All you can hope to do without more guns is just try and slow it down a bit." "But assuming that's true, where would we get more cannon? Especially now?" This was the moment she'd been dreading. Of course their ordnance was inadequate. She already knew everything he'd been saying. There was only one place to get more guns. They both realized where. "Well, you've got a problem, Katherine." He smiled lightly, just to let her know he was on to her scheme, then looked away, toward the shoreline. On their right now the island was a mantle of deep, seemingly eternal green reaching down almost to the water's edge, and beyond that, up the rise of the first hill, were dull-colored scatterings of plantation houses. The _Defiance _was making way smoothly now, northward, holding just a few hundred yards off the white, sandy shore. "You know, I'm always struck by what a puny little place Barbados is." He pointed toward a small cluster of clapboard houses half hidden among the palms along the shore. "If you put to sea, like we are now, you can practically see the whole island, north to south." She glanced at the palm-lined coast, then back. "What are you trying to say?" "That gathering of shacks we're passing over there is the grand city of Jamestown." He seemed to ignore the question as he thumbed to starboard. "Which I seem to recall is the location of that famous tree everybody here likes to brag about so much." Jamestown was where stood the massive oak into whose bark had been carved the inscription "James, King of E.," and the date 1625. That was the year an English captain named John Powell accidentally put in at an empty, forested Caribbean island and decided to claim it for his king. "That tree proclaims this island belongs to the king of England. Well, no more. The king's finished. So tell me, who does it belong to now?" "I'll tell you who it doesn't belong to. Cromwell and the English Parliament." She watched the passing shoreline, and tried to imagine what it would be like if her dream came true. If Barbados could make the stand that would change the Americas permanently. When she'd awakened this morning, birds singing and the island sun streaming through the jalousies, she'd suddenly been struck with a grand thought, a revolutionary idea. She had ignored the servants' pleas that she wait for breakfast and ordered Coral saddled immediately. Then she'd headed inland, through the moss-floored forests whose towering ironwood and oak trees still defied the settlers' axes. Amidst the vines and orchids she'd convinced herself the idea was right. What if all the English in the New World united? Declared their independence? During her lifetime there had been a vast migration to the Americas, two out of every hundred in England. She had never seen the settlement in "New England," the one at Plymouth on the Massachusetts Bay, but she knew it was an outpost of Puritans who claimed the Anglican Church smacked too much of "popery." The New Englanders had always hated King Charles for his supposed Catholic sympathies, so there was no chance they'd do anything except applaud the fanatics in England who had toppled the monarchy. But the settlements around the Chesapeake were different. Virginia was founded because of profit, not prayer books. Its planters had formed their own Assembly in 1621, the first in the Americas, and they were a spirited breed who would not give in easily to domination by England's new dictatorship. There was also a settlement on Bermuda, several thousand planters who had their own Assembly too; and word had just come they had voted to banish all Puritans from the island, in retaliation against Cromwell. Hugh Winston, who thought he knew everything, didn't know that Bermuda had already sent a secret envoy to Dalby Bedford proposing Barbados join with them and form an alliance with Virginia and the other islands of the Caribbees to resist the English Parliament. Bermuda wanted the American colonies to stand firm for the restoration of the monarchy. The Barbados Assembly appeared to be leaning in that direction too, though they still hoped they could somehow avoid a confrontation. But that was wrong, shed realized this morning. So very wrong. Don't they see what we really should do? This is our chance. We should simply declare the richest settlements in the Americas--Virginia, Barbados, St. Christopher, Nevis, Bermuda--independent of England. A new nation. It was an idea she'd not yet dared suggest to Dalby Bedford, who would likely consider it close to sedition. And she certainly couldn't tell a royalist like Anthony. He'd only fight for the monarchy. But why, she asked herself, do we need some faraway king here in the Americas? We could, we should, be our own masters. First, however, we've got to show Cromwell and his illegal Parliament that they can't intimidate the American settlements. If Barbados can stand up to them, then maybe the idea of independence will have a chance. "I came today to ask if you'd help us stand and fight. If we have to." She listened to her own voice and knew it was strong and firm. He stood silent for a moment, staring at her. Then he spoke, almost a whisper above the wind. "Who exactly is it wants me to help fight England? The Assembly?" "No. I do." "That's what I thought." He shook his head in disbelief, or was it dismay, and turned to check the whipstaff. When he glanced back, his eyes were skeptical. "I'll wager nobody knows you came down here. Am I correct?" "I didn't exactly make an announcement about it." "And that low-cut bodice and pretty smile? Is that just part of your negotiations?" "I thought it mightn't hurt." She looked him squarely in the eye. "God Almighty. What you'd do for this place! I pity Cromwell and his Roundheads." He sobered. "I don't mind telling you I'm glad at least one person here realizes this island can't defend itself as things stand now. You'd damned sure better start trying to do something." He examined her, puzzled. "But why come to me?" She knew the answer. Hugh Winston was the only person she knew who hated England enough to declare independence. He already had. "You seem to know a lot about guns and gunnery." She moved closer and noticed absently that he smelled strongly of seawater, leather, and sweat. "Did I hear you say you had an idea where we could get more cannon, to help strengthen our breastworks?" "So we're back to business. I might have expected." He rubbed petulantly at his scar. "No, I didn't say, though we both know where you might. From those Dutchmen in the harbor. Every merchantman in Carlisle Bay has guns. You could offer to buy them. Or just take them. But whatever you do, don't dally too long. One sighting of English sail and they'll put to sea like those flying fish around the island." "How about the cannon on the _Defiance_? How many do you have?" "I have a few." He laughed, then reflected with pride on his first- class gun deck. Twenty-two demi-culverin, nine-pounders and all brass so they wouldn't overheat. He'd trained his gunners personally, every man, and he'd shot his way out of more than one harbor over the past five years. His ordnance could be run out in a matter of minutes, primed and ready. "Naturally you're welcome to them. All you'll have to do is kill me first." "I hope it doesn't come to that." "So do I." He studied the position of the waning sun for a moment, then yelled forward for the men to hoist the staysail. Next he gestured toward Mewes. "John, take the whipstaff a while and tell me what you think of the feel of her. I'd guess the best we can do is six points off the wind, the way I said." "Aye." Mewes hadn't understood what all the talk had been about, but he hoped the captain was getting the best of the doxy. "I can tell you right now this new rigging of yours makes a handy little frigate work like a damn'd five-hundred-ton galleon." "Just try taking her about." He glanced at the shoreline. They were coming in sight of Speightstown, the settlement at the north tip of the island. "Let's see if we can tack around back south and make it into the bay." "But would you at least help us if we were blockaded?" She realized she was praying he would say yes. "Katherine, what's this island ever done for me? Besides, right now I've got all I can manage just trying to get the hell out of here. I can't afford to get caught up in your little quarrel with the Commonwealth." He looked at her. "Every time I've done an errand for Barbados, it's always come back to plague me." "So you don't care what happens here." She felt her disappointment surge. It had all been for nothing, and damned to him. "I suppose I had a somewhat higher opinion of you, Captain Winston. I see I was wrong." "I've got my own plan for the Caribbean. And that means a lot more to me than who rules Barbados and its slaves." "Then I'm sorry I bothered asking at all." "I've got a suggestion for you though." Winston's voice suddenly flooded with anger. "Why don't you ask your gentleman fiance, Anthony Walrond, to help? From what I hear, he was the royalist hero of the Civil War." "He doesn't have a gun deck full of cannon." She wanted to spit in Winston's smug face. "But he's got you, Katherine, doesn't he?" He felt an unwanted pang at the realization. He was beginning to like this woman more than he wanted to. She had brass. "Though as long as you're here anyway, why don't we at least toast the sunset? And the free Americas that're about to vanish into history." He abruptly kissed heron the cheek, watched as she flushed in anger, then turned and yelled to a seaman just entering the companionway aft, "Fetch up another flask of sack." Benjamin Briggs stood in the open doorway of the curing-house, listening to the "sweee" call of the long-tailed flycatchers as they flitted through the groves of macaw palms. The long silence of dusk was settling over the sugarworks as the indentures and the slaves trudged wearily toward their thatched huts for the evening dish of loblolly mush. Down the hill, toward the shore, vagrant bats had begun to dart through the shadows. In the west the setting sun had become a fiery disk at the edge of the sea's far horizon. He watched with interest as a single sail cut across the sun's lower rim. It was Hugh Winston's _Defiance_, rigged in a curious new mode. He studied it a moment, puzzling, then turned back to examine the darkening interior of the curing house. Long racks, holding wooden cones of curing sugar, extended the length of one wall. He thought about the cones for a time, watching the slow drip of molasses into the tray beneath and wondering if it mightn't pay to start making them from clay, which would be cheaper and easier to shape. Though the Africans seemed to understand working clay--they'd been using it for their huts--he knew that only whites could be allowed to make the cones. The skilled trades on Barbados must always be forbidden to blacks, whose tasks had to be forever kept repetitive, mind-numbing. The Africans could never be allowed to perfect a craft. It could well lead to economic leverage and, potentially, resistance to slavery and the end of cheap labor. He glanced back toward the darkening horizon, but now Winston's frigate had passed from view, behind the trees. Winston was no better than a thieving rogue, bred for gallows-bait, but you had to admire him a trifle nonetheless. He was one of the few men around who truly understood the need for risk here in the Americas. The man who never chanced what he had gained in order to realize more would never prosper. In the Americas a natural aristocracy was rising up, one not of birth but of boldness. Boldness would be called for tonight, but he was ready. He had done what had to be done all his life. The first time was when he was thirty-one, a tobacco importer in Bristol with an auburn-haired wife named Mary and two blue-eyed daughters, a man pleased with himself and with life. Then one chance- filled afternoon he had discovered, in a quick succession of surprise and confession, that Mary had a lover. The matter of another man would not have vexed him unduly, but the fact that her gallant was his own business partner did. The next day he sold his share of the firm, settled with his creditors, and hired a coach for London. He had never seen Bristol again. Or Mary and his daughters. In London there was talk that a syndicate of investors led by Sir William Courteen was recruiting a band of pioneers to try and establish a new settlement on an empty island in the Caribbees, for which they had just received a proprietary patent from the king. Though Benjamin Briggs had never heard of Barbados, he joined the expedition. He had no family connections, no position, and only a few hundred pounds. But he had the boldness to go where no Englishman had ever ventured. Eighty of them arrived in the spring of 1627, on the William and John, with scarcely any tools, only to discover that the entire island was a rain forest, thick and overgrown. Nor had anyone expected the harsh sunshine, day in and day out. They all would have starved from inexperience had not the Dutch helped them procure a band of Arawak Indians from Surinam, who brought along seeds to grow plantains and corn, and cassava root for bread. The Indians also taught the cultivation of cotton and tobacco, cash crops. Perhaps just as importantly, they showed the new adventurers from London how to make a suspended bed they called a hammock, in order to sleep up above the island's biting ants, and how to use smoky fires to drive off the swarms of mosquitoes that appeared each night. Yet, help notwithstanding, many of those first English settlers died from exposure and disease by the end of the year. Benjamin Briggs was one of the survivors. Later, he had vowed never to forget those years, and never to taste defeat. The sun was almost gone now, throwing its last, long shadows through the open thatchwork of the curing-house walls, laying a pattern against the hard earthen floor. He looked down at his calloused hands, the speckle of light and shade against the weathered skin, and thought of all the labors he had set them to. The first three years those hands had wielded an axe, clearing land, and then they had shaped themselves to the handle of a hoe, as he and his five new indentures set about planting indigo. And those hands had stayed penniless when his indigo crops were washed away two years running by the autumn storms the Carib Indians called _huracan_. Next he had set them to cotton. In five years he had recouped the losses from the indigo and acquired more land, but he was still at the edge of starvation, in a cabin of split logs almost a decade after coming out to the Caribbees. He looked again at his hands, thinking how they had borrowed heavily from lenders in London, the money just enough to finance a switch from cotton to tobacco. It fared a trifle better, but still scarcely recovered its costs. Though he had managed to accumulate more and more acres of island land over the years, from neighbors less prudent, he now had only a moderate fortune to show for all his labor. He'd actually considered giving up on the Americas and returning to London, to resume the import trade. But always he remembered his vow, so instead he borrowed again, this time from the Dutchmen, and risked it all one last time. On sugar. He scraped a layer from the top of one of the molds and rubbed the tan granules between his fingers, telling himself that now, at last, his hands had something to show for the two long decades of callouses, blisters, emptiness. He tasted the rich sweetness on a horned thumb and its savor was that of the Americas. The New World where every man started as an equal. Now a new spirit had swept England. The king was dethroned, the hereditary House of Lords abolished. The people had risen up . . . and, though you'd never have expected it, new risk had risen up with them. The American settlements were suddenly flooded with the men England had repudiated. Banished aristocrats like the Walronds, who'd bought their way into Barbados and who would doubtless like nothing better than to reforge the chains of class privilege in the New World. Most ironic of all, these men had at their disposal the new democratic institutions of the Americas. They would clamor in the Assembly of Barbados for the island to reject the governance of the English Parliament, hoping thereby to hasten its downfall and lead to the restoration of the monarchy. Worse, the Assembly, that reed in the winds of rhetoric, would doubtless acquiesce. Regardless of what you thought of Cromwell, to resist Parliament now would be to swim against the tide. And to invite war. The needful business of consolidating the small tracts on Barbados and setting the island wholesale to sugar would be disrupted and forestalled, perhaps forever. Why had it come down to this, he asked himself again. Now, of all times. When the fruits of long labor seemed almost in hand. When you could finally taste the comforts of life--a proper house, rich food, a woman to ease the nights. He had never considered taking another wife. Once had been enough. But he had always arranged to have a comely Irish girl about the house, to save the trouble and expense of visiting Bridgetown for an evening. A prudent man bought an indentured wench with the same careful eye hed acquire a breeding mare. A lusty-looking one might cost a few shillings more, but it was money well invested, your one compensation for all the misery. The first was years ago, when he bought a red-headed one straight off a ship from London, not guessing till he got her home that he'd been swindled; she had a sure case of the pox, the French disease. Her previous career, it then came out, included Bridewell Prison and the taverns of Turnbull Street. He sent her straight to the fields and three months later carefully bought another, this one Irish and seventeen. She had served out her time, five years, and then gone to work at a tavern in Bridgetown. He had never seen her since, and didn't care to, but after that he always kept one about, sending her on to the fields and buying a replacement when he wearied of her. That was before the voyage down to Pernambuco. Brazil had been an education, in more ways than one. You had to grant the Papists knew a thing or so about the good life. They had bred up a sensuous Latin creation: the _mulata_. He tried one at a tavern, and immediately decided the time had come to acquire the best. He had worked hard, he told himself; he had earned it. There was no such thing as a _mulata _indenture in Pernambuco, so he'd paid the extra cost for a slave. And he was still cursing himself for his poor judgment. Haughtiness in a servant was nothing new. In the past he'd learned you could easily thrash it out of them, even the Irish ones. This _mulata_, though, somehow had the idea she was gifted by God to a special station, complete with high-born Latin airs. The plan to be finally rid of her was already in motion. She had come from Pernambuco with the first cane, and she would be sold in Bridgetown with the first sugar. He already had a prospective buyer, with an opening offer of eighty pounds. He'd even hinted to Hugh Winston that she could be taken as part payment for the sight drafts, but Winston had refused the bait. It was men and provisions, he insisted, nothing else. Winston. May God damn his eyes. . . . Footsteps sounded along the gravel pathway and he turned to examine the line of planters approaching through the dusk, all wearing dark hats and colorless doublets. As he watched them puffing up the rise of the hill, he found himself calculating how much of the arable land on the island was now controlled by himself and these eleven other members of the Council. Tom Lancaster owned twelve hundred acres of the rolling acres in St. George's parish; Nicholas Whittington had over a thousand of the best land in Christ's Church parish; Edward Bayes, who had ridden down from his new plantation house on the northern tip of the island, owned over nine hundred acres; John lynes had amassed a third of the arable coastal land on the eastern, windward side of the island. The holdings of the others were smaller, but together they easily owned the major share of the good cane land on Barbados. What they needed now was the rest. "Your servant, sir." The planters nodded in chorus as they filed into the darkened curing house. Every man had ridden alone, and Briggs had ordered his own servants to keep clear of the curing house for the evening. "God in heaven, this much already." Bayes emitted a low whistle and rubbed his jowls as he surveyed the long rows of sugar molds. "You've got a fortune in this very room, sir. If this all turns out to be sugar, and not just pots of molasses like before." "It'll be white sugar or I'll answer for it, and it'll be fine as any Portugal could make." Briggs walked to the corner of the room, returning with two flasks of kill-devil and a tray of tankards. "The question now, gentlemen, is whether we'll ever see it sold." "I don't follow you, sir." Whittington reached for a brown flask and began pouring himself a tankard. "As soon as we've all got a batch cured, we'll market it to the Dutchmen. Or we'll ship it to London ourselves." "I suppose you've heard the rumor working now amongst the Dutchmen? That there might be an embargo?" "Aye, but it's no more than a rumor. There'll be no embargo, I promise you. It'd be too costly." "It's not just a rumor. There was a letter from my London broker in the mail packet that came yesterday on the _Rotterdam_. He saw fit to include this." Briggs produced a thin roll of paper. "It's a copy he had made of the Act prepared in the Council of State, ready to be sent straight to Commons for a vote." He passed the paper to Whittington, who un-scrolled it and squinted through the half-light. Briggs paused a moment, then continued, "The Act would embargo all shipping into and out of Barbados till our Assembly has moved to recognize the Commonwealth. Cromwell was so sure it'd be passed he was already pulling together a fleet of warships to send out and enforce it. Word has't the fleet will be headed by the _Rainbowe_, which was the king's flagship before Cromwell took it. Fifty guns." A disbelieving silence enveloped the darkened room. "And you say this Act was set to pass in Parliament?" Whittington looked up and recovered his voice. "It'd already been reported from the Council of State. And the letter was four weeks old. More'n likely it's already law. The _Rainbowe _could well be sailing at the head of a fleet right now as we talk." "If Cromwell does that, we're as good as on our knees." Tynes rubbed his neck and took a sip from his tankard. "What do you propose we can do?" "As I see it, there're but two choices." Briggs motioned for the men to sit on a row of empty kegs he had provided. "The first is to lie back and do nothing, in which case the royalists will probably see to it that the Assembly here votes to defy Commons and declare for Charles II." "Which means we'll be at war with England, God help us." Lancaster removed his hat to wipe his dusty brow. "Aye. A war, incidentally, which would force Cromwell to send the army to subdue the island, if he hasn't already. He'd probably post troops to try and invade us, like some people are saying. Which means the Assembly would doubtless call up every able-bodied man on the island to fight. All the militia, and the indentures. Letting the cane rot in the fields, if it's not burned to cinders by then." "Good Jesus." Whittington's face seemed increasingly haggard in the waning light. "That could well set us back years." "Aye, and who knows what would happen with the indentures and the slaves? Who'll be able to watch over them? If we have to put the island on a war footing, it could endanger the lives of every free man here. God knows we're outnumbered by all the Irish Papists and the Africans." "Aye, the more indentures and slaves you've got, the more precarious your situation." Lancaster's glazed eyes passed down the row of sugar molds as he thought about the feeble security of his own clapboard house. He also remembered ruefully that he owned only three usable muskets. "Well, gentlemen, our other choice is to face up to the situation and come to terms with Parliament. It's a bitter draught, I'll grant you, but it'll save us from anarchy, and maybe an uprising." "The Assembly'll never declare for the Commonwealth. The royalist sympathizers hold a majority." Whittington's face darkened. "Which means there's nothing to be done save ready for war." "There's still a hope. We can do something about the Assembly." Briggs turned to Tynes, a small, tanned planter with hard eyes. "How many men do you have in your regiment?" "There're thirty officers, and maybe two hundred men." "How long to raise them?" "Raise them, sir?" He looked at Briggs, uncomprehending. "To what purpose? They're militia, to defend us against attack by the Spaniards." "It's not the Spaniards we've to worry about now. I think we can agree there's a clear and present danger nearer to hand." Briggs looked around him. "I say the standing Assembly of Barbados no longer represents the best interests of this island. For any number of reasons." "Is there a limit on their term?" Lancaster looked at him questioningly. "I don't remember the law." "We're not adjudicating law now, gentlemen. We're discussing the future of the island. We're facing war. But beyond that, it's time we talked about running Barbados the way it should be, along economic principles. There'll be prosperity, you can count on it, but only if we've got a free hand to make some changes." He took a drink, then set down his tankard. "What do you mean?" Lancaster looked at him. "Well sir, the main problem now is that we've got an Assembly here that's sympathetic to the small freeholders. Not surprisingly, since thanks to Dalby Bedford every man here with five acres can vote. Our good governor saw to that when he drew up the voting parishes. Five acres. They're not the kind who should be in charge of governing this settlement now. I know it and so does every man in this room." "All the same, they were elected." "That was before sugar. Think about it. These small freeholders on the Assembly don't understand this island wasn't settled just so we'd have a batch of five-acre gardens. God's blood, I cleared a thousand acres myself. I figured that someday I'd know why I was doing it. Well, now I do." "What are you driving at?" Bayes squinted past the rows of sugar cones. "Well, examine the situation. This island could be the finest sugar plantation in the world. The Dutchmen already claim it's better than Brazil. But the land here's got to be assembled and put to efficient use. If we can consolidate the holdings of these small freeholders, we can make this island the richest spot on earth. The Assembly doesn't understand that. They'd go to war rather than try and make some prosperity here." "What are you proposing we do about it?" Lancaster interjected warily. "What if we took action, in the interests of the island?" Briggs lowered his voice. "We can't let the Assembly vote against the Commonwealth and call down the navy on our heads. They've got to be stopped." "But how do we manage it?" Tynes' voice was uneasy. "We take preventive action." He looked around the room. "Gentlemen, I say it'd be to the benefit of all the free Englishmen on Barbados if we took the governor under our protection for the time being, which would serve to close down the Assembly while we try and talk sense with Parliament." "We'd be taking the law into our own hands." Tynes shifted uncomfortably. "It's a question of whose law you mean. According to the thinking of the English Parliament, this Assembly has no legal standing anyway, since they've yet to recognize the rule of Commons. We'd just be implementing what's already been decided." "I grant you this island would be wise not to antagonize Cromwell and Parliament just now." Whittington searched the faces around him. "And if the Assembly won't take a prudent course, then . . ." "What we're talking about here amounts to overturning the sitting governor, and closing down the Assembly." Lancaster's voice came through the gloom. "We've not the actual authority, even if Parliament has . . ." "We've got something more, sir." Briggs met his troubled gaze. "An obligation. To protect the future of the island." What we need now, he told himself, is responsible leadership. If the Council can deliver up the island, the quid pro quo from Cromwell will have to be acting authority to govern Barbados. Parliament has no brief for the Assembly here, which fits nicely with the need to be done with it anyway. The irony of it! Only if Barbados surrenders do we have a chance to realize some prosperity. If we stand and fight, we're sure to lose eventually, and then none of us will have any say in what comes after. And in the long run it'll be best for every man here, rich and poor. When there's wealth--as there's sure to be if we can start evicting these freeholders and convert the island over to efficient sugar plantations--everybody benefits. The wealth will trickle down, like the molasses out of these sugar cones, even to the undeserving. It's the way things have to be in the Americas if we're ever to make a go of it. But one step at a time. First we square the matter of Bedford and the Assembly. "But have we got the men?" Lancaster settled his tankard on a keg and looked up hesitantly. "With the militia we already have under our command, I'd say we've got sympathetic officers, since they're all men with sizable sugar acreage. On the other hand, it'd probably not be wise to try calling up any of the small freeholders and freemen. So to get the numbers we'll be wanting, I'd say we'll just have to use our indentures as the need arises." "You've named a difficulty there." Whittington took a deep breath. "Remember the transfer over to Winston takes place day after tomorrow. That's going to leave every man here short. After that I'll have no more than half a dozen Christians on my plantation. All the rest are Africans." "Aye, he'll have the pick of my indentures as well," Lancaster added, his voice troubled. "He'll just have to wait." Briggs emptied his tankard and reached for the flask. "We'll postpone the transfer till this thing's settled. And let Winston try to do about it what he will." Chapter Six A light breeze stirred the bedroom's jalousie shutters, sending strands of the midnight moon dancing across the curves of her naked, almond skin. As always when she slept she was back in Pernambuco, in the whitewashed room of long ago, perfumed with frangipani, with moonlight and soft shadows that pirouetted against the clay walls. . . . Slowly, silently, the moon at the window darkens, as a shadow blossoms through the airless space, and in her dream the form becomes the ancient _babalawo _of Pernambuco, hovering above her. Then something passes across her face, a reverent caress, and there is softness and scent in its touch, like a linen kerchief that hints of wild berries. The taste of its honeyed sweetness enters the dream, and she finds herself drifting deeper into sleep as his arms encircle her, drawing her up against him with soft Yoruba words. Her body seems to float, the dream deepening, its world of light and shadow absorbing her, beckoning, the softness of the bed gliding away. Now she feels the touch of her soft cotton shift against her breasts and senses the hands that lower it about her. Soon she is buoyed upward, toward the waiting moon, past the jalousies at the window, noiselessly across the rooftop. . . . She awoke as the man carrying her in his arms dropped abruptly to the yard of the compound. She looked to see the face, and for an instant she thought it truly was the old priest in Brazil ... the same three clan marks, the same burning eyes. Then she realized the face was younger, that of another man, one she knew from more recent dreams. She struggled to escape, but the drugged cloth came again, its pungent, cloying sweetness sending her thoughts drifting back toward the void of the dream. . . . Now the wall of the compound floats past, vaulted by the figure who holds her draped in his arms. His Yoruba words are telling her she has the beauty of Oshun, beloved wife of Shango. That tonight they will live among the Orisa, the powerful gods that dwell in the forest and the sky. For a moment the cool night air purges away the sweetness of the drug, the potion this _babalawo _had used to numb her senses, and she is aware of the hard flex of his muscle against her body. Without thinking she clings to him, her fear and confusion mingled with the ancient comfort of his warmth, till her mind merges once more with the dark. . . . Atiba pointed down toward the wide sea that lay before them, a sparkling expanse spreading out from the shoreline at the bottom of the hill, faintly tinged with moonlight. "I brought you here tonight to make you understand something. In Ife we say: 'The darkness of night is deeper than the shadow of the forest.' Do you understand the chains on your heart can be stronger than the chains on your body?" He turned back to look at Serina, his gaze lingering over the sparkling highlights the moon now sprinkled in her hair. He found himself suddenly remembering a Yoruba woman he had loved once, not one of his wives, but a tall woman who served the royal compound at Ife. He had met with her secretly, after his wives were killed in the wars, and he still thought of her often. Something in the elegant face of this _mulata _brought back those memories even more strongly. She too had been strong-willed, like this one. Was this woman also sacred to Shango, as that one had been . . .? "You only become a slave when you give up your people." His voice grew gentle, almost a whisper. "What is your Yoruba name?" "I'm not Yoruba." She spoke quickly and curtly, forcing the words past her anger as she huddled for warmth, legs drawn up, arms encircling her knees. Then she reached to pull her shift tighter about her and tried to clear her thoughts. The path on which hed carried her, through forests and fields, was a blurred memory. Only slowly had she realized they were on a hillside now, overlooking the sea. He was beside her, wearing only a blue shirt and loincloth, his profile outlined in the moonlight. "Don't say that. The first thing you must know is who you are. Unless you understand that, you will always be a slave." "I know who I am. I'm _mulata_. Portugues. I'm not African." She glanced down at the grass beside her bare feet and suddenly wished her skin were whiter. I'm the color of dead leaves, she thought shamefully, of the barren earth. Then she gripped the hem of her shift and summoned back her pride. "I'm not a _preto_. Why would I have an African name?" She felt her anger rising up once more, purging her feelings of helplessness. To be stolen from her bed by this ignorant _preto_, brought to some desolate spot with nothing but the distant sound of the sea. That he would dare to steal her away, a highborn mulata. She did not consort with blacks. She was almost . . . white. The wind laced suddenly through her hair, splaying it across her cheeks, and she realized the night air was perfumed now, almost as the cloth had been, a wild fragrance that seemed to dispel a portion of her anger, her humiliation. For a moment she found herself thinking of the forbidden things possible in the night, those hidden hours when the rules of day can be sacrificed to need. And she became aware of the warmth of his body next to hers as he crouched, waiting, motionless as the trees at the bottom of the hill. If she were his captive, then nothing he did to her would be of her own willing. How could she prevent him? Yet he made no move to take her. Why was he waiting? "But to have a Yoruba name means to possess something the _branco _can never own." He caressed her again with his glance. Even though she was pale, he had wanted her from the first moment he saw her. And he had recognized the same want in her eyes, only held in check by her pride. Why was she so proud, he wondered. If anything, she should feel shame, that her skin was so wan and pale. In Ife the women in the compounds would laugh at her, saying the moons would come and go and she would only wet her feet, barren. No man would take some frail albino to share his mat. Even more--for all her fine Ingles clothes and her soft bed she was ten times more slave than he would ever be. How to make her understand that? "You only become a slave when you give up the ways of your people. Even if your father was a_ branco_, you were born of a Yoruba woman. You still can be Yoruba. And then you will be something, have something." The powerful hands that had carried her to this remote hilltop were now toying idly with the grass. "You are not the property of a _branco _unless you consent to be. To be a slave you must first submit, give him your spirit. If you refuse, if you remember your own people, he can never truly enslave you. He will have only your body, the work of your hands. The day you understand that, you are human again." "You are wrong." She straightened. "Here in the Americas you are whatever the _branco_ says. You will never be a man unless he says you are." She noticed a tiny race in her heartbeat and told herself again she did not want to feel desire for this preto, now or ever. "Do you want to know why? Because your skin is black. And to the Ingles black is the color of evil. They have books of learning that say the Christian God made Africans black because they are born of evil; they are less than human. They say your blackness outside comes from your darkness within." She looked away, shamed once more by the shade of her own skin, her unmistakable kinship with this _preto _next to her. Then she continued, bitterly repeating the things she'd heard that the Puritan divines were now saying in the island's parish churches. "The Ingles claim Africans are not men but savages, something between man and beast. And because of that, their priests declare it is the will of their God that you be slaves. . . ." She had intended to goad him more, to pour out the abusive scorn she had so often endured herself, but the softness of the Yoruba words against her tongue sounded more musical than she had wanted. He was quietly smiling as she continued. "And now I order you to take me back before Master Briggs discovers I'm gone." "The sun is many hours away. So for a while yet you won't have to see how black I am." He laughed and a pale glimmer of moonlight played across the three clan marks on his cheek. "I thought you had more understanding than is expected of a woman. Perhaps I was wrong. We say 'The thread follows the needle; it does not make its own way.' For you the Portugues, and now this _branco _Briggs, have been the needle; you merely the thread." He grasped her shoulder and pulled her around. "Why do you let some _branco _tell you who you are? I say they are the savages. They are not my color; they are sickly pale. They don't worship my gods; they pray to some cruel God who has no power over the earth. Their language is ugly and harsh; mine is melodic, rich with verses and ancient wisdom." He smiled again at the irony of it. "But tonight you have told me something very important about the mind of these Ingles. You have explained why they want so much to make me submit. If they think we are evil, then they must also think us powerful." Suddenly he leaped to his feet and joyously whirled in a circle, entoning a deep, eerie chant toward the stars. It was like a song of triumph. She sat watching till he finished, then listened to the medley of frightened night birds from the dark down the hill. How could this _preto _understand so well her own secret shame, see so clearly the lies she told herself in order to live? Abruptly he reached down and slipped his hands under her arms, lifting her up to him. "The first thing I want to do tonight is give you back a Yoruba name. A name that has meaning." He paused. "What was your mother called?" "Her name was Dara." "Our word for 'beautiful.'" He studied her angular face gravely. "It would suit you as well, for truly you are beautiful too. If you took that name, it would always remind you that your mother was a woman of our people." She found herself wishing she had the strength to push his warm body away, to shout out to him one final time that he was a _preto_, that his father was a _preto _and her own a _branco_, that she had no desire to so much as touch him. . . . But suddenly she was ashamed to say the word "white," and that shame brought a wave of anger. At him, at herself. All her life she had been proud to be _mulata_. What right did this illiterate _preto _have to make her feel ashamed now? "And what are you? You are a _preto _slave. Who brings me to a hilltop in the dark of night and brags about freedom. Tomorrow you will be a slave again, just like yesterday." "What am I?" Angrily he gripped her arms and pulled her face next to his. The fierceness of his eyes again recalled the old _babalawo _in Brazil; he had had the same pride in himself, his people. "I am more than the Ingles here are. Ask of them, and you will discover half once were criminals, or men with no lands of their own, no lineage. In my veins there is royal blood, a line hundreds of generations old. My own father was nearest the throne of the ruling Oba in Ife. He was a _babalawo_, as I am, but he was also a warrior. Before he was betrayed in battle, he was the second most powerful man in Ife. That's who I am, my father's son." "What happened? Was he killed?" Impulsively she took his hand and was surprised by its warmth. "He disappeared one day. Many markets later I learned he was betrayed by some of our own people. Because he was too powerful in Ife. He was captured and taken down to the sea, sold to the Portugues. I was young then. I had only known twelve rainy seasons. But I was not too young to hunt down the traitors who made him slave. They all died by my sword." He clenched his fist, then slowly it relaxed. "But enough. Tonight I want just one thing. To teach you that you still can be free. That you can be Yoruba again." "Why do you want so much to change me?" "Because, Dara"--his eyes were locked on hers--"I would have you be my wife. Here. I will not buy you with a bride price; instead I will kill the man who owns you." She felt a surge of confusion, entwined with want. But again her disdain of everything _preto _caught in her breast. Why, she wondered, was she even bothering to listen? "After you make me 'Yoruba,' I will still be a slave to the Ingles." "Only for a few more days." His face hardened, a tenseness that spread upward through his high cheeks and into his eyes. "Wait another moon and you will see my warriors seize this island away from them." "I'll not be one of your Yoruba wives." She drew back and clasped her arms close to her breasts, listening to the night, alive now with the sounds of whistling frogs and crickets. "Rather than be wife to a Yoruba, you would be whore to an Ingles." He spat out the words. "Which means to be nothing." "But if you take this island, you can have as many wives as you like. Just as you surely have now in Ife." She drew away, still not trusting the pounding in her chest. "What does one more mean to you?" "Both my wives in Ife are dead." His hand reached and stroked her hair. "They were killed by the Fulani, years ago. I never chose more, though many families offered me their young women." "Now you want war again. And death. Here." "I raised my sword against my enemies in Yorubaland. I will fight against them here. No Yoruba will ever bow to others, black or white." He gently touched her cheek and smoothed her pale skin with his warm fingers. "You can stand with us when we rise up against the Ingles." His touch tingled unexpectedly, like a bridge to some faraway time she dreamed about and still belonged to. For an instant she almost gave in to the impulse to circle her arms around him, pull him next to her. He stroked her cheek again, lovingly, before continuing. "Perhaps if I kill all the Ingles chiefs, then you will believe you are free. That your name is Dara, and not what some Portugues once decided to call you." He looked at her again and his eyes had softened now. "Will you help me?" She watched as the moonlight glistened against the ebony of his skin. This _preto _slave was opening his life to her, something no other man had ever done. The _branco _despised his blackness even more than they did hers, but he bore their contempt with pride, with strength, more strength than she had ever before sensed in a man. And he needed her. Someone finally needed her. She saw it in his eyes, a need he was still too proud to fully admit, a hunger for her to be with him, to share the days ahead when . . . _Yes _. . . when she would stand with him to destroy the _branco_. "Together." Softly she reached up and circled her arms around his broad neck. Suddenly his blackness was exquisite and beautiful. "Tonight I will be wife to you. Will you hold me now?" The wind whipped her long black hair across his shoulder, and before she could think she found herself raising her lips to his. He tasted of the forest, of a lost world across the sea she had never known. His scent was sharp, and male. She felt his thumb brush across her cheek and sensed the wetness of her own tears. What had brought this strange welling to her eyes, here on this desolate hillside. Was it part of love? Was that what she felt now, this equal giving and accepting of each other? She shoved back his open shirt, to pass her hands across the hard muscles of his chest. Scars were there, deep, the signs of the warrior he once had been. Then she slipped the rough cotton over his back, feeling the open cuts of the lashes, the marks of the slave he was now. Suddenly she realized he wore them as proudly as sword cuts from battle. They were the emblem of his manhood, his defiance of the Ingles, just as his cheek marks were the insignia of his clan. They were proof to all that his spirit still lived. She felt his hands touch her shift, and she reached gently to stop him. Over the years in Brazil so many men had used her. She had been given to any white visitor at the plantation who wanted her: first it was Portuguese traders, ship captains, even priests. Then conquering Hollanders, officers of the Dutch forces who had taken Brazil. A hundred men, all born in Europe, all unbathed and rank, all white. She had sensed their _branco _contempt for her with anger and shame. To this black Yoruba, this strong, proud man of Africa, she would give herself freely and with love. She met his gaze, then in a single motion pulled the shift over her head and tossed it away, shaking out the dark hair that fell across her shoulders. As she stood naked before him in the moonlight, the wind against her body seemed like a foretaste of the freedom, the love, he had promised. He studied her for a moment, the shadows of her firm breasts casting dark ellipses downward across her body. She was _dara_. Slowly he grasped her waist and lifted her next to him. As she entwined her legs about his waist, he buried his face against her and together they laughed for joy. Later she recalled the touch of his body, the soft grass, the sounds of the night in her ears as she cried out in completeness. The first she had ever known. And at last, a perfect quiet had seemed to enfold them as she held him in her arms, his strength tame as a child's. In the mists of dawn he brought her back, through the forest, serenaded by its invisible choir of egrets and whistling frogs. He carried her home across the rooftop, to her bed, to a world no longer real. "Damn me, sir, I suppose you've heard the talk. I'll tell you I fear for the worst." Johan Ruyters wiped his mouth with a calloused hand and shoved his tankard across the table, motioning for a refill. The Great Cabin of the _Defiance _was a mosaic of flickering shadows, lighted only by the swaying candle-lantern over the large oak table. "It could well be the end of Dutch trade in all the English settlements, from here to Virginia." "I suppose there's a chance. Who can say?" Winston reached for the flask of sack and passed it over. He was exhausted, but his mind was taut with anticipation. Almost ready, he told himself; you'll be gone before the island explodes. There's only one last thing you need: a seasoned pilot for Jamaica Bay. "One of the stories I hear is that if Barbados doesn't swear allegiance to Parliament, there may be a blockade." "Aye, but that can't last long. And frankly speaking, it matters little to me who governs this damned island, Parliament or its own Assembly." He waved his hand, then his look darkened. "No, it's this word about some kind of Navigation Act that troubles me." "You mean the story that Parliament's thinking of passing an Act restricting trade in all the American settlements to English bottoms?" "Aye, and let's all pray it's not true. But we hear the damned London merchants are pushing for it. We've sowed, and now they'd be the ones to reap." "What do you think you'll do?" "Do, sir? I'd say there's little we _can _do. The Low Countries don't want war with England. Though that's what it all may lead to if London tries stopping free trade." He glanced around the timbered cabin: there was a sternchaser cannon lashed to blocks just inside the large windows aft and a locked rack of muskets and pistols secured forward. Why had Winston invited him aboard tonight? They had despised each other from the first. "The better part of our trade in the New World now's with Virginia and Bermuda, along with Barbados and St. Christopher down here in the Caribbees. It'll ruin every captain I know if we're barred from ports in the English settlements." "Well, the way things look now, you'd probably be wise just to weigh anchor and make for open sea, before there's any trouble here. Assuming your sight drafts are all in order. " "Aye, they're signed. But now I'm wondering if I'll ever see them settled." He leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair. "I've finished scrubbing down the _Zeelander _and started lading in some cotton. This was going to be my best run yet. God damn Cromwell and his army. As long as the Civil War was going on, nobody in London took much notice of the Americas." "True enough. You Hollanders got rich, since there was scarcely any English shipping. But in a way it'll be your own fault if Barbados has to knuckle under now to England and English merchants." "I don't follow you, sir." Ruyters regarded him questioningly. "It'd be a lot easier for them to stand and fight if they didn't have these new slaves you sold them." "That's a most peculiar idea, sir." He frowned. "How do you see that?" Winston rose and strolled aft to the stern windows, studying the leaded glass for a moment before unlatching one frame and swinging it out. A gust of cool air washed across his face. "You Hollanders have sold them several thousand Africans who'd probably just as soon see the island turned back to a forest. So they'll be facing the English navy offshore, with a bunch of African warriors at their backs. I don't see how they can man both fronts." "That's a curious bit of speculation, sir. Which I'm not sure I'd be ready to grant you. But it scarcely matters now." Ruyters stared down at the table. "So what do you think's likely to happen?" "My guess is the Assembly'll not surrender the island to Cromwell without a fight. There's too much royalist sentiment there." He looked back at Ruyters. "If there's a blockade, or if Cromwell tries to land English forces, I'd wager they'll call up the militia and shoot back." "But they've nothing to fight with. Scarcely any ordnance worth the name." "That's what I'm counting on." Winston's eyes sobered. "What do you mean, sir?" "It's the poor man that remembers best who once lent him a shilling. I figure that anybody who helps them now will be remembered here in the days to come, regardless of how this turns out." "Why in the name of hell would you bother helping them? No man with his wits about him wants to get caught in this, not if he's looking to his own interests." "I'll look to my interests as I see fit." Winston glanced back. "And you can do the same." "Aye, to be sure. I intend to. But what would you be doing getting mixed up in this trouble? There'll be powder and shot spent before it's over, sir, or I'm not a Christian." "I figure there's today. And then there's tomorrow, when this island's going to be a sugar factory. And they'll need shippers. They won't forget who stood by them. If I pitch in a bit now--maybe help them fortify the Point, for instance--I'll have first call. I'm thinking of buying another bottom, just for sugar." He looked at Ruyters and laughed. "Why should all the new sugar profits go to you damned Butterboxes?" "Well, sir, you're not under my command anymore. I can't stop you from trying." The Dutchman cleared his throat noisily. "But they'd not forget so soon who's stood by them through all the years. Ask any planter here and he'll tell you we've kept this island, and all the rest of the English settlements, from starving for the last twenty years." He took a swallow from his tankard, then settled it down thoughtfully. "Though mind you, we needed them too. England had the spare people to settle the Americas, which the Low Countries never had, but we've had the bottoms to ship them what they need. It's been a perfect partnership." He looked back at Winston. "What exactly do you think you can do, I mean this business about fortifying the Point?" "Just a little arrangement I'm making with some members of the Assembly." "I'm asking you as one gentleman to another, sir. Plain as that." Winston paused a few moments, then walked back from the window. The lantern light played across his lined face. "As a gentleman, then. Between us I'm thinking I'll off-load some of the ordnance on the _Defiance _and move it up to the Point. I've got twice the cannon on board that they've got in place there. I figure I might also spare them a few budge-barrels of powder and some round shot if they need it." "I suppose I see your thinking." Ruyters frowned and drank again. "But it's a fool's errand, for all that. Even if they could manage to put up a fight, how long can they last? They're isolated." "Who can say? But I hear there's talk in the Assembly about trying to form an alliance of all the American settlements. They figure Virginia and Bermuda might join with them. Everybody would, except maybe the Puritans up in New England, who doubtless can be counted on to side with the hotheads in Parliament." "And I say the devil take those New Englanders. They've started shipping produce in their own bottoms, shutting us out. I've seen their flags carrying lumber to the Canaries and Madeira; they're even sending fish to Portugal and Spain now. When a few years past we were all but keeping them alive. Ten years ago they even made Dutch coin legal tender in Massachusetts, since we handled the better part of their trade. But now I say the hell with them." His face turned hopeful. "But if there was an alliance of the other English settlements, I'll wager there'd be a chance they might manage to stand up to Cromwell for a while. Or at least hold out for terms, like you say. They need our shipping as much as we need them." "I've heard talk Bermuda may be in favor of it. Nobody knows about Virginia." Winston drank from his tankard. "But for now, the need's right here. At least that's what I'm counting on. If I can help them hold out, they'll remember who stood by them. Anyway, I've got nothing to lose, except maybe a few culverin." Ruyters eyed him in silence for a moment. The rhythmic creaking of the boards sounded through the smoky gloom of the cabin. Finally he spoke. "Let's be plain. What are they paying you?" "I told you." Winston reached for the flask. "I've spoken to Bedford, and I'm planning a deal for sugar contracts. I'll take it out in trade later." Ruyters slammed down his own tankard. "God's wounds, they could just as well have talked to some of us! I'll warrant the Dutch bottoms here've got enough ordnance to fortify both of the breastworks along the west coast." He looked up. "There're a good dozen merchantmen anchored in the bay right now. And we've all got some ordnance. I've even got a fine set of brass nine-pounders they could borrow." "I'd as soon keep this an English matter for now. There's no need for you Dutchmen to get involved." Winston emptied the flask into his tankard. "The way I see it, I can fortify the breastwork up on the Point with what I've got on board. It'll help them hold off Cromwell's fleet for a while, maybe soften the terms." He turned and tossed the bottle out the open stern window. "Which is just enough to get me signatures on some contracts. Then I take back the guns and Cromwell can have the place." "What the pox, it's a free trade matter, sir. We've all got a stake in it." Ruyters' look darkened. He thought of the profits he had enjoyed over the years trading with the English settlements. He'd sold household wares, cloth, and liquor to colonists in Virginia and the Caribbees, and he'd shipped back to Europe with furs and tobacco from North America, cotton and dye woods from the Caribbean. Like all Dutch fluyts, his ship was specially built to be lightly manned, enabling him to consistently undercut English shippers. Then too, he and the other Dutch traders made a science of stowage and took better care of their cargos. They could always sell cheaper, give longer credits, and offer lower freight rates than any English trader could. But now that they had slaves to swap for sugar, there would finally be some real profits. "I can't speak for the other men here, but it'd be no trouble for me to lend them a few guns too. . . . And I'd be more than willing to take payment in sugar contracts. Maybe you could mention it privately to Bedford. It'd have to be unofficial, if they're going to be using Dutch guns against the English navy." "I'm not sure why I'd want to do that." "As a gentleman, sir. We both have a stake in keeping free trade. Maybe you could just drop a word to Bedford and ask him to bring it up with the Assembly. Tell him we might mislay a few culverin, if he could arrange to have some contracts drawn up." "What's in it for me?" "We'll strike an arrangement, sir. Word of honor." Ruyters look brightened. "To be settled later. When I can return the favor." "Maybe you can do something for me now . . . if I agree." "You can name it, sir." "I've been thinking I could use a good bosun's mate. How about letting me have that crippled Spaniard on the _Zeelander _if you've still got him? What's his name . . . the one who had a limp after that fall from the yardarm when we were tacking in to Nevis?" "You don't mean Vargas?" "Armando Vargas, that's the one." Ruyters squinted through the dim light. "He's one of the handiest lads aloft I've got, bad leg or no. A first-rate yardman." "Well, I think I'd like to take him on." "I didn't know you were short-handed, sir." "That's my bargain." Winston walked back to the window. "Let me have him and I'll see what I can do about talking to Bedford." "I suppose you remember he used to be a navigator of sorts for the Spaniards. For that matter, I'll wager he knows as much as any man you're likely to come across about their shipping in the Windward Passage and their fortifications over there on the Main." Ruyters' eyes narrowed. "Damn my soul, what the devil are you planning?" "I can always use a good man." He laughed. "Those are my terms." "You're a lying rogue, I'll stake my life." He shoved back his chair. "But I still like the bargain, for it all. You've got a man. Have Bedford raise our matter with the Assembly." "I'll see what I can do. Only it's just between us for now, till we see how many guns they need." "It goes without saying." Ruyters rose and extended his hand. "So we'll shake on it. A bargain sealed." He bowed. "Your servant, sir." Winston pushed open the cabin door and followed him down the companionway to the waist of the ship. Ruyters' shallop was moored alongside, its lantern casting a shimmering light across the waves. The oarsmen bustled to station when they saw him emerge. He bowed again, then swung heavily down the rope ladder. Winston stood pensively by the railing, inhaling the moist evening air and watching as the shallop's lantern slowly faded into the midnight. Finally he turned and strolled up the companionway to the quarterdeck. Miss Katherine Bedford should be pleased, he told himself. In any case, better they borrow Dutch guns than mine. Not that the extra ordnance will make much difference if Cromwell posts a fleet of warships with trained gunners. With these planters manning their cannon, the fleet will make short work of the island. He started back for the cabin, then paused to watch the moonlight breaking over the crests and listen to the rhythmic pound of light surf along the shore. He looked back at the island and asked himself if Katherine's was a cause worth helping. Not if the Americas end up the province of a few rich slaveholders--which on Barbados has got to be sure as the sunrise. So just hold your own course, and let this island get whatever it deserves. He glanced over the ship and reflected again on his preparations, for the hundredth time. It wouldn't be easy, but the plan was coming together. The sight drafts were still safely locked away in the Great Cabin, ready for delivery day after tomorrow, when the transfer of the indentures became official. And the work of outfitting the ship for transport of men was all but finished. The gun deck had been cleared, with the spare budge barrels of powder and the auxiliary round shot moved to the hold, permitting sleeping hammocks to be lashed up for the new men. Stores of salt fish, cheese, and biscuit had been assembled in a warehouse facing Carlisle Bay; and two hundred half pikes had been forged, fitted with staffs, and secured in the fo'c'sle, together with all of Anthony Walrond's new flintlock muskets. Everything was ready. And now he finally had a pilot. Armando Vargas had made Jamaica harbor a dozen times back when he sailed with the Spaniards; he always liked to brag about it. Once he'd even described in detail the lookout post on a hilltop somewhere west of Jamaica Bay. If they could slip some men past those sentries on the hill, the fortress and town would fall before the Spaniards' militia even suspected they were around. Then maybe he would take out time to answer the letter that'd just come from England. He turned and nodded to several of the men as he moved slowly back down the companionway and into the comforting quiet of the cabin. He'd go up to Joan's tavern after a while, share a last tankard, and listen to that laugh of hers as he spun out the story of Ruyters and the guns. But now he wanted solitude. He'd always believed he thought best, worked best, alone. He closed the large oak door of the Great Cabin, then walked to the windows aft and studied the wide sea. The Caribbean was home now, the only home left. If there was any question of that before, there wasn't anymore, not after the letter. He stood a moment longer, then felt for the small key he always kept in his left breeches pocket. Beneath a board at the side of the cabin was a movable panel, and behind it a heavy door, double secured. The key slipped easily into the metal locks, and he listened for the two soft clicks. Inside were the sight bills, just visible in the flickering light of the lantern, and next to them was a stack of shipping invoices. Finally there was the letter, its outside smeared with grease and the red wax of its seal cracked and half missing. He slipped it out and unfolded it along the creases, feeling his anger well up as he settled to read it one more time. _Sir (I shall never again have the pleasure to address you as my obedient son), After many years of my thinking you perished, there has late come word you are abroad in the Caribbees, a matter long known to certain others but until this day Shielded from me, for reasons I now fully Comprehend. The Reputation I find you have acquired brings me no little pain, being that (so I am now advis'd) of a Smuggler and Brigand. _ He paused to glance out the stern window once again, remembering how the letter had arrived in the mail packet just delivered by the Rotterdam. It was dated two months past, and it had been deposited at Joan's tavern along with several others intended for seamen known to make port in Barbados. _Though I had these many long years thought you dead by the hands of the Spaniard, yet I prayed unceasing to God it should not be so. Now, upon hearing News of what you have become, I am constrained to question God's will. In that you have brought Ignominy to my name, and to the name of those other two sons of mine, both Dutiful, I can find no room for solace, nor can they. _He found his mind going back to memories of William and James, both older. He'd never cared much for either of them, and they'd returned his sentiment in full measure. William was the first--heavy set and slow of wit, with a noticeable weakness for sherry. Since the eldest son inherited everything, he had by now doubtless taken charge of the two thousand acres that was Winston Manor, becoming a country squire who lived off rents from his tenants. And what of James, that nervous image of Lord Harold Winston and no less ambitious and unyielding? Probably by now he was a rich barrister, the profession he'd announced for himself sometime about age ten. Or maybe he'd stood for Parliament, there to uphold the now-ended cause of King Charles. _That a son of mine should become celebrated in the Americas for his contempt of Law brings me distress beyond the telling of it. Though I reared you with utmost care and patience, I oft had cause to ponder if you should ever come to any good end, being always of dissolute and unruly inclination. Now I find your Profession has been to defraud the English crown, to which you should be on your knees in Reverence, and to injure the cause of honest Merchants, who are the lifeblood of this Christian nation. I am told your name has even reached the ears of His Majesty, causing him no small Dismay, and adding to his distresses at a time when the very throne of England is in peril from those who would, as you, set personal gain above loyalty and obedience. . . . _ He stopped, not wanting to read more, and crumpled the letter. That was the end of England. Why would he want to go back? Ever? If there'd once been a possibility, now it was gone. The time had come to plant roots in the New World. So what better place than Jamaica? And damned to England. He turned again to the stern windows, feeling the end of all the unease that had come and gone over the years. This was it. But after Jamaica, what? He was all alone. A white cloud floated past the moon, with a shape like the beakhead of a ship. For a moment it was a gargoyle, and then it was the head of a white horse. . . . He had turned back, still holding the paper, when he noticed the sound of distant pops, fragile explosions, from the direction of the Point. He walked, puzzling, back to the safe and was closing the door, the key already in the lock, when he suddenly stopped. The Assembly Room was somewhere near Lookout Point, just across the bay. It was too much of a coincidence. With a silent curse he reached in and felt until his hand closed around the leather packet of sight bills, the ones he would exchange for the indentures. Under them were the other papers he would need, and he took those too. Then he quickly locked the cabinet and rose to make his way out to the companionway. As he passed the table, he reached for his pistols, checking the prime and shoving them into his belt as he moved out into the evening air. He moved aft to the quartergallery railing to listen again. Now there could be no mistaking. Up the hill, behind Lookout Point, there were flashes of light in the dark. Musket fire. "What do you suppose it could be, Cap'n?" John Mewes appeared at the head of the companionway. "Just pray it's not what I think it is. Or we may need some powder and shot ourselves." He glanced back toward the hill. "Sound general muster. Every man on deck." "Aye." Mewes turned and headed for the quarterdeck. Even as the bell was still sounding, seamen began to appear through the open hatch, some half dressed and groggy. Others were mumbling that their dice game had been interrupted. Winston met them on the main deck, and slowly they formed a ragged column facing him. Now there was more gunfire from the hill, unmistakable. "I'm going to issue muskets." He walked along the line, checking each seaman personally. Every other man seemed to be tipsy. "To every man here that's sober. We're going ashore, and you'll be under my command." "Beggin' yor pardon, Cap'n, what's all that commotion up there apt to be?" A grizzled seaman peered toward the sounds as he finished securing the string supporting his breeches. "It might just be the inauguration of a new Civil War, Hawkins." Winston's voice sounded down the deck. "So look lively. We collect on our sight bills. Tonight." Chapter Seven The jagged peninsula known as Lookout Point projected off the southwestern tip of Barbados, separating the windy Atlantic on the south from the calm of the leeward coast on the west. At its farthest tip, situated on a stone cliff that rose some hundred feet above the entrance to Carlisle Bay, were the breastwork and gun emplacements. Intended for harbor defense only, its few projecting cannon all pointed out toward the channel leading into the bay, past the line of coral reefs that sheltered the harbor on its southern side. From the deck of the _Defiance_, at anchor near the river mouth and across the bay from the peninsula, the gunfire seemed to be coming from the direction of the new Assembly Room, a thatched-roof stone building up the hill beyond the breastwork. Constructed under the authority of Governor Dalby Bedford, it housed the General Assembly of Barbados, which consisted of two representatives elected from each of the eleven parishes on the island. All free men in possession of five acres or more could vote, ballots being cast at the parish churches. While Winston unlocked the gun racks in the fo'c'sle and began issuing the muskets and the bandoliers of powder and shot, John Mewes ordered the two longboats lashed amidships readied and launched. The seamen lined up single file at the doorway of the fo'c'sle to receive their muskets, then swung down the rope ladders and into the boats. Winston took his place in one and gave command of the other to John Mewes. As the men strained against the oars and headed across the bay, he studied the row of cannon projecting out over the moonlit sea from the top of the breastwork. They've never been used, he thought wryly, except maybe for ceremonial salutes. That's what they call harbor defenses! It's a mercy of God the island's so far windward from the Main that the Spaniards've never troubled to burn the place out. He sat on the prow of the longboat, collecting his thoughts while he tasted the air and the scent of the sea. The whitecaps of the bay slipped past in the moonlight as they steered to leeward of the line of Dutch merchantmen anchored near the shore. He then noticed a bob of lanterns on the southeast horizon and realized it was an arriving merchantman, with a heading that would bring it directly into the harbor. He watched the lights awhile, marveling at the Dutch trading zeal that would cause a captain to steer past the reefs into the harbor in the hours after midnight. He congratulated himself he'd long ago given up trying to compete head-on with the Hollanders. They practically owned the English settlements in the Americas. Scarce wonder Cromwell's first order of business was to be rid of them. The sound of the tide lapping against the beach as the two longboats neared the shore beneath the breastwork brought his attention back. When they scraped into the shallows, he dropped off the prow and waded through the knee-high surf that chased up the sand in wave after wave. Ahead the beach glistened white, till it gave way to the rocks at the base of the Point. John Mewes puffed along close at his heels, and after him came the first mate, Dick Hawkins, unshaven but alert, musket at the ready. Close behind strode tall Edwin Spune, master's mate, a musket in each hand, followed by the rest. In all, some twenty of Winston's men had crossed the bay with him. He ordered the longboats beached, then called the men together and motioned for quiet. "Are all muskets primed?" "Aye." Spurre stepped forward, holding his two muskets up as though for inspection. "An' every man's got an extra bandolier of powder an' shot. We're ready for whatever the whoresons try." He glanced up the rise, puzzled, still not understanding why the captain had assembled them. But Hugh Winston liked having his orders obeyed. "Good." Winston walked down the line. "Spread out along the shore and wait. I'm going up to see what the shooting's about. Just stand ready till you hear from me. But if you see me fire a pistol shot, you be up that hill like Jack-be-nimble. Is that clear?" "You mean us against all that bleedin' lot up there?" John Mewes squinted toward the dark rise. "There's apt to be half their militia up there, Cap'n, from the sound of it." "Did I hear you question an order, John? You know ship's rules. They go for officers too." He turned to the other men. "Should we call a vote right here?" "God's life." Mewes pushed forward, remembering Winston's formula for discipline on the _Defiance_. He didn't even own a cat-o'nine-tails, the lash used by most ship captains for punishment. He never touched an offender. He always just put trial and punishment to a show of hands by the men--whose favorite entertainment was keelhauling any seaman who disobeyed Captain's orders, lashing a line to his waist and ducking him under the hull till he was half drowned. "I wasn't doin' no questioning. Not for a minute. I must've just been mumbling in my sleep." "Then try and stay awake. I'm going up there now, alone. But if I need you, you'd better be there, John. With the men. That's an order." "Aye." Mewes performed what passed for a salute, then cocked his musket with a flourish. Winston loosened the pistols in his belt, checked the packet containing the sight bills and the other papers he had brought, then headed directly up the rise. The approach to Lookout Point was deserted, but up the hill, behind a new stack of logs, he could see the shadowy outline of a crowd. The barricade, no more than fifty yards from the Assembly Room, was in the final stages of construction, as men with torches dragged logs forward. Others, militia officers, were stationed behind the logs with muskets and were returning pistol fire from the half-open doorway of the Assembly Room. Above the din he could hear the occasional shouts of Benjamin Briggs, who appeared to be in charge. Together with him were the members of the Council and officers from their regiments. The command of the militia was restricted to major landholders: a field officer had to own at least a hundred acres, a captain fifty, a lieutenant twenty-five, and even an ensign had to have fifteen. On the barricade were straw-hatted indentures belonging to members of the Council, armed only with pikes since the planters did not trust them with muskets. Winston recognized among them many whom he had agreed to take. The firing was sputtering to a lull as he approached. Then Briggs spotted him and yelled out. "You'd best be gone, sir. Before someone in the Assembly Room gets a mind to put a round of pistol shot in your breeches." "I'm not part of your little war." "That you're decidedly not, sir. So we'll not be requiring your services here tonight." "What's the difficulty?" Winston was still walking directly toward them. "It's a matter of the safety of Barbados. I've said it doesn't concern you." "Those indentures concern me. I don't want them shot." "Tell that to the Assembly, sir. We came here tonight offering to take Dalby Bedford under our care, peacefully. To protect him from elements on the island who're set to disown Parliament. But some of the hotheads in there mistook our peaceful purpose and opened fire on us." "Maybe they think they can 'protect' him better than you can." Another round of fire sounded from the doorway of the Assembly Room and thudded into the log barricade. When two of the planters cursed and fired back, the door was abruptly slammed shut. "It's the Assembly that's usurped rightful rule here, sir, as tonight should amply show. When they no longer represent the true interests of Barbados." Briggs glared at him. "We're restoring proper authority to this island, long overdue." "You and the Council can restore whatever you like. I'm just here to take care of my indentures, before you manage to have some of them killed." "They're not yours yet, sir. The situation's changed. We're not letting them go whilst the island's unsettled." "The only unsettling thing I see here are all those muskets." He reached into the pocket of his jerkin and lifted out the leather packet containing the sight drafts. "So we're going to make that transfer, right now." "Well, I'm damned if you'll have a single man. This is not the time agreed." Briggs looked around at the other members of the Council. Behind them the crowd of indentures had stopped work to listen. "The sight bills are payable on demand. We've settled the terms, and I'm officially calling them in." Winston passed over the packet. "You've got plenty of witnesses. Here're the sight bills. As of now, the indentures are mine." He pulled a sheaf of papers from the other pocket of his jerkin. ' 'You're welcome to look over the drafts while I start checking off the men." Briggs seized the leather packet and flung it to the ground. Then he lifted his musket. "These indentures are still under our authority. Until we say, no man's going to take them. Not even. . ." A series of musket shots erupted from the window of the Assembly Room, causing Briggs and the other planters to duck down behind the log barricade. Winston remained standing as he called out the first name on the sheet. "Timothy Farrell." The red-faced Irishman climbed around Briggs and moved forward, his face puzzled. He remained behind the pile of logs as he hunkered down, still holding his half-pike. "That's my name, Yor Worship. But Master Briggs . . ." "Farrell, here's the indenture contract we drew up for your transfer." Winston held out the first paper from the sheaf. "I've marked it paid and had it stamped. Come and get it and you're free to go." "What's this, Yor Worship?" He gingerly reached up for the paper and stared at it in the torchlight, uncomprehending. "I heard you was like to be buying out my contract. By my reckoning there's two more year left on it." "I did just buy it. It's there in your hand. You're a free man." Farrell sat staring at the paper, examining the stamped wax seal and attempting to decipher the writing. A sudden silence enveloped the crowd, punctuated by another round of musket fire from the Assembly Room. After it died away, Winston continued, "Now Farrell, if you'd care to be part of an expedition of mine that'll be leaving Barbados in a few days' time, that's your privilege. Starting tonight, your pay'll be five shillings a week." "Beggin' Yor Worship's pardon, I reckon I'm not understandin' what you've said. You've bought this contract? An' you've already marked it paid?" "With those sight bills." He pointed to the packet on the ground beside Briggs. Farrell glanced at the leather bundle skeptically. Then he looked back at Winston. "An' now you're sayin' I'm free?" "It's stamped on that contract. Have somebody read it if you care to." "An' I can serve Yor Worship for wage if I like?" His voice began to rise. "Five shillings a week for now. Maybe more later, if you . . ." "Holy Mother Mary an' all the Saints! _I'm free_!" He crumpled the paper into his pocket, then leaped up as he flung his straw hat into the air. "Free! I ne'er thought I'd stay breathin' long enough to hear the word." He glanced quickly at the Assembly Room, then dismissed the danger as he began to dance beside the logs. "_At the dirty end o' Dirty Lane_, _Liv'd a dirty cobbler, Dick Maclane ..." _"That man still belongs to me." Briggs half cocked his musket as he rose. Farrell whirled and brandished his half-pike at the planter. "You can fry in hell, you pox-rotted bastard. I've lived on your corn mush an' water for three years, till I'm scarce able to stand. An' sweated sunup to sundown in your blazin' fields, hoein' your damn'd tobacco, and now your God-cursed cane. With not a farthing o' me own to show for it, or a change o' breeches. But His Worship says he's paid me out. An' his paper says I'm free. That means free as you are, by God. I'll be puttin' this pike in your belly--by God I will--or any man here, who says another word against His Worship. I'll serve him as long as I'm standin', or pray God to strike me dead." He gave another whoop. "Good Jesus, who's got a thirst! I'm free!" "Jim Carroll." Winston's voice continued mechanically, sounding above the din that swept through the indentures. "Present an' most humbly at Yor Worship's service." A second man elbowed his way forward through the cluster of Briggs' indentures, shoving several others out of his path. "Here's your contract, Carroll. It's been stamped paid and you're free to go. Or you can serve under me if you choose. You've heard the terms." "I'd serve you for a ha'penny a year, Yor Worship." He seized the paper and gave a Gaelic cheer, a tear lining down one cheek. "I've naught to show for four years in the fields but aches an' an empty belly. I'll die right here under your command before I'd serve another minute under that whoreson." "God damn you, Winston." Briggs full-cocked his musket with an ominous click. "If you think I'll . . ." Carroll whirled and thrust his pike into Briggs' face. "It's free I am, by God. An' it's me you'll be killin' before you harm a hair o' His Worship, if I don't gut you first." Briggs backed away from the pike, still clutching his musket. The other members of the Council had formed a circle and cocked their guns. "You don't own these damned indentures yet," Nicholas Whittington shouted. "We've not agreed to a transfer now." "You've got your sight drafts. Those were the terms. If you want these men to stay, tell it to them." He checked the sheaf of papers and yelled out the next name: "Tom Darcy." As a haggard man in a shabby straw hat pushed forward, Winston turned back to the huddle that was the Council. "You're welcome to offer them a wage and see if they'd want to stay on. Since their contracts are all stamped paid, I don't have any say in it anymore." "Well, I have a say in it, sir." Whittington lifted his musket. "I plan to have an end to this knavery right now, before it gets out of hand. One more word from you, and it'll be your . . ." Winston looked up and yelled to the crowd of indentures. "I gather you've heard who's on the list. If those men'll come up, you can have your papers. Your contracts are paid, and you're free to go. Any man who chooses to serve under me can join me here now." Whittington was knocked sprawling by the surge of the crowd, as straw hats were flung into the air. A milling mob of indentures waving half- pikes pressed forward. Papers from the sheaf in Winston's hand were passed eagerly through the ranks. The Council and the officers of their militia had drawn together for protection, still grasping their muskets. In the confusion no one noticed the shaft of light from the doorway of the Assembly Room that cut across the open space separating it from the barricade. One by one the members of the Assembly gingerly emerged to watch. Leading them was Anthony Walrond, wearing a brocade doublet and holding a long flintlock pistol, puzzlement in his face. Briggs finally saw them and whirled to cover the Assemblymen with his musket. "We say deliver up Bedford or there'll be hell to pay, I swear it!" "Put down that musket, you whoreson." Farrell gave a yell and threw himself across the barrel of the gun, seizing the muzzle and shoving it in to the dirt. There was a loud report as it discharged, exploding at the breech and spewing burning powder into the night. "Christ Almighty." Walrond moved out into the night and several men from the Assembly trailed after him, dressed in plain doublets and carrying pistols. "What the devil's this about?" "Nothing that concerns you." Winston dropped a hand to one of the guns in his belt. "I'd advise you all to go back inside till I'm finished." "We were just concluding a meeting of the Assembly, sir." Walrond examined Winston icily, then glanced toward the men of the Council. "When these rogues tried to commandeer the room, claiming they'd come to seize the governor, to 'protect' him. I take it you're part of this conspiracy." "I'm here to protect my interests. Which gives me as much right as you have to be here. I don't recall that you're elected to this body." "I'm here tonight in an advisory capacity, Captain, not that it's any of your concern." Walrond glanced back at the others, all warily holding pistols. "To offer my views regarding the situation in England." As he spoke Dalby Bedford emerged from the crowd. Walking behind him was Katherine. Winston turned to watch, thinking she was even more beautiful than he had realized before. Her face was radiant, self-assured as she moved through the dim torchlight in a glistening skirt and full sleeves. She smiled and pushed toward him. "Captain Winston, are you to be thanked for all this confusion?" "Only a part of it, Miss Bedford. I merely stopped by to enquire about my indentures, since I got the idea some of your Assemblymen were shooting at them." Anthony Walrond stared at Katherine. "May I take it you know this man? It does you no credit, madam, I warrant you." Then he turned and moved down the path, directly toward Briggs and the members of the Council. "And I can tell all of you this night is far from finished. There'll be an accounting here, sirs, you may depend on it. Laws have been violated." "You, sir, should know that best of all." Briggs stepped forward and dropped his hand to the pistol still in his belt. "Since you and this pack of royalist agitators that calls itself an Assembly would unlawfully steer this island to ruin. The Council of Barbados holds that this body deserves to be dissolved forthwith, and new elections held, to represent the interests of the island against those who'd lead us into a fool's war with the Commonwealth of England." "You, sir, speak now in the very same voice as the rebels there. I presume you'd have this island bow to the criminals in Parliament who're now threatening to behead our lawful king." "Gentlemen, please." Dalby Bedford moved between them and raised his hand. "I won't stand for this wrangling. We all have to try to settle our differences like Englishmen. I, for one, would have no objection to inviting the Council to sit with us in the Assembly, have a joint session, and try to reason out what's the wisest course now." "I see no reason this body need share a table with a crowd of rebels who'll not bend a knee to the rightful sovereign of England." Walrond turned back to the members of the Assembly. "I say you should this very night draw up a loyalty oath for Barbados. Any man who refuses to swear fealty to His Majesty should be deported back to England, to join the traitors who would unlawfully destroy the monarchy." "No!" Katherine abruptly pushed in front of him. "This island stayed neutral all through the Civil War. We never took a part, either for king or Parliament. Why should we take sides now, with the war over and finished?" Walrond looked down at her, startled. "Because the time has come to stand and be counted, Katherine. Why do you suppose? The rebels may have seized England for now, but that's no reason we in the Americas have to turn our back on the king." "But there's another choice." She drew a deep breath. Winston saw determination in her eyes as she turned to face the men of the Assembly. "Think about it. We never belonged to England; we belonged to the Crown. But the monarchy's been abolished and the king's patents invalidated. I say we should join with the other English settlements and declare the Americas a new nation. Barbados should lead the way and declare our own independence." "That's the damnedest idea I've ever heard." Briggs moved forward, shaking away the indentures who still crowded around him menacingly. "If we did that, there'd be war for sure. We've got to stay English, or Cromwell'll send the army to burn us out." He turned to Walrond. "Rebel or no, Cromwell represents the might of England. We'd be fools to try to stand against him. Either for king or for some fool dream of independence." He looked back at Katherine. "Where'd you get such an idea, girl? It'd be the end of our hopes for prosperity if we tried going to war with England. There'd be no room to negotiate." "You, sir, have no say in this. You're apt to be on trial for treason before the week's out." Walrond waved his pistol at Briggs, then turned back to Katherine. "What are you talking about? England is beholden to her king, madam, much the way, I might remind you, a wife is to her husband. Or don't you yet understand that? It's our place to revere and serve the monarchy." "As far as I'm concerned, the king's only a man. And so's a husband, sir." "A wife takes an oath in marriage, madam, to obey her husband. You'd best remember that." He turned and motioned the members of the Assembly to gather around him as he stepped over to a large log and mounted it. "On the subject of obedience, I say again an oath of loyalty to His Majesty King Charles should be voted in the Barbados Assembly this very morning. We need to know where this island stands." He stared back at Dalby Bedford. "Much as a husband would do well to know what he can expect when he takes a wife." "You've got no authority to call a vote by the Assembly," Briggs sputtered. "You're not elected to it." He looked at Walrond, then at Bedford. "This, by God, was the very thing we came here tonight to head off." "You, sir, have no authority to interfere in the lawful processes of this body." Walrond turned back to the Assembly members, now huddled in conference. Winston looked at Katherine and found himself admiring her idealism-- and her brass, openly defying the man she was supposed to marry. She wanted independence for the Americas, he now realized, while all Anthony Walrond wanted was to turn Barbados into a government in exile for the king, maybe to someday restore his fortune in England. She was an independent woman herself too, make no mistaking. Sir Anthony Walrond was going to have himself a handful in the future, with the Commonwealth and with her. Come to think of it, though, independence wasn't all that bad an idea. Why the hell not? Damned to England. "I think there've been enough high-handed attempts to take over this island for one night." He moved to confront Walrond. "You have your brass, Captain, to even show your face here." He inspected Winston with his good eye. "When you pillaged a ship of mine off Nevis Island, broadcloth and muskets, no more than two years past." "Now that you've brought it up, what I did was save the lives of some fifty men who were about to drown for want of a seaworthy longboat. Since you saved so much money on equipage, I figured you could afford to compensate me for my pains." "It was theft, sir, by any law." "Then the law be hanged." "Hardly a surprising sentiment, coming from you." Walrond shifted his pistol toward Winston's direction. "You should be on Tortuga, with the other rogues of your own stripe, rather than here on Barbados amongst honest men. Your profession, Captain, has trained you best for the end of a rope." "What's yours trained you for?" He stood unmoving. "Get yourself elected to the Assembly, then make your speeches. I'm tired of hearing about your king. In truth, I never had a very high opinion of him myself." "Back off, sirrah. I warn you now." Walrond pointed his long pistol. "You're speaking your impertinences to an officer of the king's army. I've dealt with a few thieves and smugglers in years past, and I just may decide to mete out some more long-overdue justice here and now." Dalby Bedford cleared his throat and stepped between them. "Gentlemen, I think there's been more heat here tonight than need be, all around. It could be well if we cooled off a day or so. I trust the Assembly would second my motion for adjournment of this session, till we've had time to reflect on what's the best course for us. This is scarcely a light matter. We could be heading into war with England." "A prospect that does not deter certain of us from acting on principle, sir." Walrond's voice welled up again. "I demand this Assembly take a vote right now on . . ." "You'll vote on nothing, by God," Briggs yelled, then drew his own pistol. Suddenly a fistfight erupted between two members of the Assembly, one for and the other opposing the monarchy. Then others joined in. In the excitement, several pistols were discharged in the fray. Good God, Winston thought, Barbados' famous Assembly has been reduced to this. He noticed absently that the first gray coloring of dawn was already beginning to appear in the east. It'd been a long night. What'll happen when day finally comes and news of all this reaches the rest of the island? Where will it end. . . "Belay there! Cool down your ordnance!" Above the shouts and bedlam, a voice sounded from the direction of the shore. Winston turned to see the light of a swinging sea lantern approaching up the rise. He recognized the ragged outline of Johan Ruyters, still in the clothes he had worn earlier that night, puffing up the hill. Ruyters topped the rise and surveyed the confusion. His presence seemed to immediately dampen the melee, as several Assemblymen paused in embarrassment to stare. The Dutchman walked directly up to Dalby Bedford and tipped his wide-brimmed hat. "Your servant, sir." Then he gazed around. "Your most obedient servant, gentlemen, one and all." He nodded to the crowd before turning back to address Bedford. "Though it's never been my practice to intrude in your solemn English convocations, I thought it would be well for you to hear what I just learned." He drew a deep breath and settled his lantern onto the grass. "The _Kostverloren_, bound from Amsterdam, has just dropped anchor in the bay, and Captain Liebergen called us all together in a rare sweat. He says when dark caught him last evening he was no more than three leagues ahead of an English fleet." "Great God help us." Walrond sucked in his breath. "Aye, that was my thinking as well." Ruyters glanced back. "If I had to guess, I'd say your English Parliament's sent the navy, gentlemen. So we may all have to be giving God a hand if we're not to have the harbor taken by daylight. For once a rumor's proved all too true." "God's life, how many were sailing?" Bedford whirled to squint toward the dim horizon. "His maintopman thinks he may've counted some fifteen sail. Half of them looked to be merchantmen, but the rest were clearly men-of-war, maybe thirty guns apiece. We're all readying to weigh anchor and hoist sail at first light, but it's apt to be too late now. I'd say with the guns they've got, and the canvas, they'll have the harbor in a bottle by daybreak." "I don't believe you." Walrond gazed skeptically toward the east. "As you will, sir." Ruyters smiled. "But if you'd be pleased to send a man up to the top of the hill, right over there, I'd wager he just might be able to spy their tops'ls for himself." Winston felt the life suddenly flow out of him. It was the end of his plans. With the harbor blockaded, he'd never be able to sail with the indentures. He might never sail at all. "God Almighty, you don't have to send anybody." Bedford was pointing toward the horizon. "Don't you see it?" Just beneath the gray cloudbank was an unmistakable string of flickering pinpoints, mast lights. The crowd gathered to stare in dismay. Finally Bedford's voice came, hard and determined. "We've got to meet them. The question is, what're their damned intentions?" Ruyters picked up his lantern and extinguished it. "By my thinking the first thing you'd best do is man those guns down there on the Point, and then make your enquiries. You can't let them into the bay. We've got shipping there, sir. And a fortune in cargo. There'll be hell to pay, I promise you, if I lose so much as a florin in goods." Bedford gazed down the hill, toward the gun emplacements at the ocean cliff. "Aye, but we don't yet know why the fleet's come. We've only had rumors." "At least one of those rumors was based on fact, sir." Briggs had moved beside them. "I have it on authority, from my broker in London, that an Act was reported from the Council of State four weeks past to embargo our shipping till the Assembly votes recognition of the Commonwealth. He even sent me a copy. And this fleet was already being pulled together at the time. I don't know how many men-o'-war they've sent, but I heard the flagship was to be the _Rainbowe_. Fifty guns." He looked back at the Assembly. "And the surest way to put an end to our prosperity now would be to resist." He was rudely shouted down by several Assemblymen, royalists cursing the Commonwealth. The air came alive with calls for defiance. "Well, we're going to find out what they're about before we do anything, one way or the other." Bedford looked around him. "We've got guns down there in the breastwork. I'd say we can at least keep them out of the bay for now." "Not without gunners, you won't." Ruyters' voice was somber. "Who've you got here? Show me a man who's ever handled a linstock, and I'll give you leave to hang me. And I'll not be lending you my lads, though I'd dearly love to. It'd be a clear act of war." Winston was staring down at the shore, toward his own waiting seamen. If the English navy entered Carlisle Bay, the first vessel they'd confiscate would be the _Defiance_. "God help me." He paused a moment longer, then walked to the edge of the hill and drew a pistol. The shot echoed through the morning silence. The report brought a chorus of yells from the shore. Suddenly a band of seamen were charging up the hill, muskets at the ready, led by John Mewes. Winston waited till they topped the rise, then he gestured them forward. "All gunnery mates report to duty at the breastwork down there at the Point, on the double." He pointed toward the row of rusty cannon overlooking the bay. "Master Gunner Tom Canninge's in charge." Several of the men gave a loose salute and turned to hurry down the hill. Winston watched them go, then looked back at Bedford. "How much powder do you have?" "Powder? I'm not sure anybody knows. We'll have to check the magazine over there." Bedford gestured toward a low building situated well behind the breastwork, surrounded by its own stone fortification. "I'd say there's likely a dozen barrels or so." Winston glanced at Mewes. "Go check it, John. See if it's usable." "Aye." Mewes passed his musket to one of the French seamen and was gone. "And that rusty pile of round shot I see down there by the breastwork? Is that the best you've got?" "That's all we have on the Point. There's more shot at Jamestown and over at Oistins." "No time." He motioned to Ruyters. "Remember our agreement last night?" "Aye, and I suppose there's no choice. I couldn't make open sea in time now anyway." The Dutchman's eyes were rueful. "I'll have some round shot sent up first, and then start offloading my nine-pound demi- culverin." "All we need now is enough shot to make them think we've got a decent battery up here. We can bring up more ordnance later." "May I remind you," Bedford interjected, "we're not planning to start an all-out war. We just need time to try and talk reason with Parliament, to try and keep what we've got here." Winston noticed Briggs and several members of the Council had convened in solemn conference. If an attack comes, he found himself wondering, which of them will be the first to side with Parliament's forces and betray the island? "There's twenty budge-barrels, Cap'n." Mewes was returning. "I gave it a taste an' I'll wager it's dry and usable." Winston nodded, then motioned toward Edwin Spurre. "Have the men here carry five barrels on down to the Point, so the gunnery mates can start priming the culverin. Be sure they check all the touch holes for rust." "Aye." Spurre signaled four of the seamen to follow him as he started off toward the powder magazine. Suddenly he was surrounded and halted by a group of Irish indentures. Timothy Farrell approached Winston and bowed. "So please Yor Worship, we'd like to be doin' any carryin' you need here. An' we'd like to be the ones meetin' them on the beaches." "You don't have to involve yourself, Farrell. I'd say you've got little enough here to risk your life for." "Aye, Yor Worship, that's as it may be. But are we to understand that fleet out there's been sent by that whoreson archfiend Oliver Cromwell?" "That's what we think now." "Then beggin' Yor Worship's pardon, we'd like to be the men to gut every scum on board. Has Yor Worship heard what he did at Drogheda?" "I heard he sent the army." "Aye. When Ireland refused to bow to his Parliament, he claimed we were Papists who had no rights. He led his Puritan troops to Irish soil, Yor Worship, and laid siege to our garrison-city of Drogheda. Then he let his soldiers slaughter our people. Three thousand men, women, and children. An' for it, he was praised from the Puritan pulpits in England." Farrell paused to collect himself. "My cousin died there, Yor Worship, wi' his Meggie. An' one of Cromwell's brave Puritan soldiers used their little daughter as a shield when he helped storm an' burn the church, so they could murder the priests. Maybe that heretic bastard thinks we've not heard about it here." He bowed again. "We don't know enough about primin' and firin' cannon, but wi' Yor Worship's leave, we'd like to be the ones carryin' all the powder and shot for you." "Permission granted." Winston thumbed them in the direction of Spurre. The armada of sails was clearly visible on the horizon now, and rapidly swelling. As the first streaks of dawn showed across the waters, English colors could be seen on the flagship. It was dark brown and massive, with wide cream-colored sails. Now it had put on extra canvas, pulling away from the fleet, bearing down on the harbor. Winston studied the man-of-war, marveling at its majesty and size. How ironic, he thought. England's never sent a decent warship against the Spaniards in the New World, even after they burned out helpless settlements. But now they send the pick of the navy, against their own people. "Damned to them, that is the _Rainbowe_." Bedford squinted at the ship. "She's a first-rank man-of-war, fifty guns. She was King Charles' royal ship of war. She'll transport a good two hundred infantry." Winston felt his stomach tighten. Could it be there'd be more than a blockade? Had Parliament really sent the English army to invade the island? "I'm going down to the breastwork." He glanced quickly at Katherine, then turned and began to make his way toward the gun emplacements. Edwin Spurre and the indentures were moving slowly through the early half-light, carrying kegs of powder. "I think we can manage with these guns, Cap'n." Canninge was standing by the first cannon, his long hair matted against the sweat on his forehead. "I've cleaned out the touch holes and checked the charge delivered by the powder ladle we found. They're eighteen-pounders, culverin, and there's some shot here that ought to serve." "Then prime and load them. On the double." "Aye." Using a long-handled ladle, he and the men began to shove precisely measured charges of powder, twenty pounds, into the muzzle of each cannon. The indentures were heaving round shot onto their shoulders and stacking piles beside the guns. Winston watched the approaching sail, wondering how and why it had suddenly all come to this. Was he about to be the first man in the Americas to fire a shot declaring war against England? He looked around to see Dalby Bedford standing behind him, with Katherine at his side. "You know what it means if we open fire on the _Rainbowe_? I'd guess it's Cromwell's flagship now." "I do indeed. It'd be war. I pray it'll not come to that. I'd like to try and talk with them first, if we can keep them out of the bay." The governor's face was grim. "Try once across her bow. Just a warning. Maybe she'll strike sail and let us know her business." "Care to hold one last vote in the Assembly about this, before we fire the first shot? Something tells me it's not likely to be the last." "We've just talked. There's no need for a vote. No man here, royalist or no, is going to stand by and just hand over this place. We'll negotiate, but we'll not throw up our hands and surrender. There's too much at stake." Winston nodded and turned to Canninge. "They're pulling close to range. When you're ready, lay a round across her bow. Then hold for orders." "Aye." Canninge smiled and pointed toward a small gun at the end of the row, its dark brass glistening in the early light. "I'll use that little six-pounder. We'll save the eighteen-pounders for the work to come. "Have you got range yet?" "Give me a minute to set her, and I'll wager I can lay a round shot two hundred yards in front of the bow." He turned and barked an order. Seamen hauled the tackles, rolling the gun into position. Then they levered the breech slightly upward to lower the muzzle, jamming a wooden wedge between the gun and the wooden truck to set it in position. Winston took a deep breath, then glanced back at Bedford. "This may be the most damn foolhardy thing that's ever been done." Bedford's voice was grave. "It's on my authority." He turned back to Canninge. "Fire when ready." The words were swallowed in the roar as the gunner touched a piece of burning matchrope to the cannon's firing hole. Dark smoke boiled up from the muzzle, acrid in the fresh morning air. Moments later a plume erupted off the bow of the English man-of-war. Almost as though the ship had been waiting, it veered suddenly to port. Winston realized the guns had already been run out. They'd been prepared. Puffs of black smoke blossomed out of the upper gun deck, and moments later a line of plumes shot up along the surf just below the Point. "They fired when they dipped into a swell." Canninge laughed. "English gunnery still disappoints me." A fearful hush dropped over the crowd, and Winston stood listening as the sound of the guns echoed over the Point. "They probably don't suspect we've got any trained gunners up here this morning. Otherwise they'd never have opened fire when they're right under our ordnance." He glanced at Bedford. "You've got their reply. What's yours?" "I suppose there's only one answer." The governor looked back and surveyed the waiting members of the Assembly. Several men removed their hats and began to confer together. Moments later they looked up and nodded. He turned back. "What can you do to her?" "Is that authority to fire?" "Full authority." "Then get everybody back up the hill. Now." He watched as Bedford gave the order and the crowd began to quickly melt away. The Irish indentures waited behind Winston, refusing to move. He gestured a few of the men forward, to help set the guns, then turned back to Canninge. "Is there range?" "Aye, just give me a minute to set the rest of these culverin." Winston heard a rustle of skirts by his side and knew Katherine was standing next to him. He reached out and caught her arm. "You've got a war now, Katherine, whether you wanted it or not. It'll be the first time a settlement in the Americas has ever fired on an English ship. I guess that's the price you're going to have to pay for staying your own master. But I doubt you'll manage it." "We just might." She reached and touched the hand on her arm. Then she turned and looked out to sea. "We have to try." Winston glanced toward the guns. Canninge and the men had finished turning them on the _Rainbowe_, using long wooden handspikes. Now they were adjusting the wooden wedge at the breech of each gun to set the altitude. "How does it look?" "I know these eighteen-pounders, Cap'n, like I was born to one. At this range I could line-of-sight these whoresons any place you like." " How about just under the lower gun deck? At the water line? The first round better count." "Aye, that's what I've set them for." He grinned and reached for a burning linstock. "I didn't figure we was up here to send a salute." Book Two REVOLUTION Chapter Eight The Declaration _"We find these Acts of the English Parliament to oppose the freedom, safety, and well-being of this island. We, the present inhabitants of Barbados, with great danger to our persons, and with great charge and trouble, have settled this island in its condition and inhabited the same, and shall we therefore be subjected to the will and command of those that stay at home? Shall we be bound to the government and lordship of a Parliament in which we have no Representatives or persons chosen by us? It is alleged that the inhabitants of this island have, by cunning and force, usurped a power and formed an independent Government. In truth the Government now used among us is the same that hath always been ratified, and doth everyway agree with the first settlement and Government in this place. Futhermore, by the above said Act all foreign nations are forbidden to hold any correspondency or traffick with the inhabitants of this island; although all the inhabitants know very well how greatly we have been obliged to the Dutch for our subsistence, and how difficult it would have been for us, without their assistance, ever to have inhabited these places in the Americas, or to have brought them into order. We are still daily aware what necessary comfort they bring us, and that they do sell their commodities a great deal cheaper than our own nation will do. But this comfort would be taken from us by those whose Will would be a Law unto us. However, we declare that we will never be so unthankful to the Netherlanders for their former help and assistance as to deny or forbid them, or any other nation, the freedom of our harbors, and the protection of our Laws, by which they may continue, if they please, all freedom of commerce with us. Therefore, we declare that whereas we would not be wanting to use all honest means for obtaining a continuance of commerce, trade, and good correspondence with our country, so we will not alienate ourselves from those old heroic virtues of true Englishmen, to prostitute our freedom and privileges, to which we are born, to the will and opinion of anyone; we can not think that there are any amongst us who are so simple, or so unworthily minded, that they would not rather choose a noble death, than forsake their liberties. The General Assembly of Barbados" _ Sir Edmond Calvert studied the long scrolled document in the light of the swinging ship's lantern, stroking his goatee as he read and reread the bold ink script. "Liberty" or "death." A memorable choice of words, though one he never recalled hearing before. Would the actions of these planters be as heroic as their rhetoric? Or could the part about a "noble death" be an oblique reference to King Charles' bravery before the executioner's axe? It had impressed all England. But how could they have heard? The king had only just been beheaded, and word could scarcely have yet reached the Barbados Assembly. One thing was clear, however: Barbados' Assembly had rebelled against the Commonwealth. It had rejected the authority of Parliament and chosen to defy the Navigation Act passed by that body to assert England's economic control of its settlements in the New World. Wearily he settled the paper onto the table and leaned back in his sea chair, passing his eyes around the timbered cabin and letting his gaze linger on a long painting of Oliver Cromwell hanging near the door. The visage had the intensity of a Puritan zealot, with pasty cheeks, heavy- lidded eyes, and the short, ragged hair that had earned him and all his followers the sobriquet of "Roundhead." He had finally executed the king. England belonged to Cromwell and his Puritan Parliament now, every square inch. Calvert glanced back at the Declaration, now lying next to his sheathed sword and its wide shoulder strap. England might belong to Parliament, he told himself, but the Americas clearly didn't. The tone of the document revealed a stripe of independence, of courage he could not help admiring. And now, to appease Cromwell, I've got to bludgeon them into submission. May God help me. The admiral of the fleet was a short stocky Lincolnshire man, who wore the obligatory ensemble of England's new Puritan leadership: black doublet with wide white collar and cuffs. A trim line of gray hair circled his bald pate, and his face was dominated by a heavy nose too large for his sagging cheeks. In the dull light of the lantern his thin goatee and moustache looked like a growth of pale foliage against his sallow skin. His father, George Calvert, had once held office in the Court of King Charles, and for that reason he had himself, many years past, received a knighthood from the monarch. But Edmond Calvert had gone to sea early, had risen through merit, and had never supported the king. In fact, he was one of the few captains who kept his ship loyal to Parliament when the navy defected to the side of Charles during the war. In recognition of that, he had been given charge of transporting Cromwell's army to Ireland, to suppress the rebellion there, and he bore the unmistakably resigned air of a man weary of wars and fighting. The voyage out had been hard, for him as well as for the men, and already he longed to have its business over and done, to settle down to a table covered not with contentious proclamations but spilling over with rabbit pies, blood puddings, honeyed ham. Alas, it would not soon be. Not from the sound of the island's Declaration. He lowered the wick of the lantern, darkening the shadows across the center table of the Great Cabin, and carefully rolled the document back into a scroll. Then he rose and moved toward the shattered windows of the stern to catch a last look at the island before it was mantled in the quick tropical night. As he strode across the wide flooring-planks of the cabin, he carefully avoided the remaining shards of glass, mingled with gilded splinters, that lay strewn near the windows. Since all able-bodied seamen were still needed to man the pumps and patch the hull along the waterline, he had prudently postponed the repairs of his own quarters. As he looked about the cabin, he reminded himself how lucky he was to have been on the quarterdeck, away from the flying splinters, when the shelling began. The first volley from the Point had scored five direct hits along the portside. One English seaman had been killed outright, and eleven others wounded, some gravely. With time only for one answering round, he had exposed the Rainbowe' s stern to a second volley from the breastwork on the Point while bringing her about and making for open sea. That had slammed into the ship's gilded poop, destroying the ornate quartergallery just aft of the Great Cabin, together with all the leaded glass windows. The island was considerably better prepared than he had been led to believe. Lord Cromwell, he found himself thinking, will not be pleased when he learns of the wanton damage Barbados' rebels have wreaked on the finest frigate in the English navy. Through the ragged opening he could look out unobstructed onto the rising swells of the Caribbean. A storm was brewing out to sea, to add to the political storm already underway on the island. High, dark thunderheads had risen up in the south, and already spatters of heavy tropical rain ricocheted off the shattered railing of the quartergallery. The very air seemed to almost drip with wetness. He inhaled deeply and asked himself again why he had agreed to come out to the Americas. He might just as easily have retired his command and stayed home. He had earned the rest. Edmond Calvert had served the Puritan side in the war faithfully for a decade, and over the past five years he had been at the forefront of the fighting. In reward he had been granted the command of the boldest English military campaign in history. Oliver Cromwell was nothing if not audacious. Having executed the king, he had now conceived a grand assault on Spain's lands in the New World. The plan was still secret, code named Western Design: its purpose, nothing less than the seizure of Spain's richest holdings. Barbados, with its new sugar wealth, would someday be merely a small part of England's new empire in the Americas, envisioned by Cromwell as reaching from Massachusetts to Mexico to Brazil. But first, there was the small matter of bringing the existing settlements in the Americas back into step. He had never been sure he had the stomach for the task. Now, after realizing the difficulties that lay ahead in subduing this one small island, he questioned whether he wanted any part of it. He swabbed his brow, clammy in the sweltering heat, and wondered if all the islands of the Caribbees were like this. Doubtless as bad or worse, he told himself in dismay. He had seen and experienced Barbados only for a day, but already he had concluded it was a place of fierce sun and half-tamed forest, hot and miserable, its very air almost a smoky green. There was little sign among the thatched-roof shacks along the shore of its reputed great wealth. Could it be the stories at home were gross exaggerations? Or deliberate lies? It scarcely mattered now. Barbados had to be reclaimed. There was no option. On his left lay the green hills of the island, all but obscured in sudden sheets of rain; on his right the line of English warships he had ordered positioned about the perimeter of Carlisle Bay, cannons run out and primed. He had stationed them there, in readiness, at mid-morning. Then, the siege set, he had summoned his vice admiral and the other commanders to a council on board the _Rainbowe_. They had dined on the last remaining capons and drawn up the terms of surrender, to be sent ashore by longboat. The island was imprisoned and isolated. Its capitulation, they told each other, was merely a matter of time. Except that time would work against the fleet too, he reminded himself. Half those aboard were landsmen, a thrown-together infantry assembled by Cromwell, and the spaces below decks were already fetid, packed with men too sick and scurvy-ravished to stir. Every day more bodies were consigned to the sea. If the island could not be made to surrender in a fortnight, two at most, he might have few men left with the strength to fight. The Declaration told him he could forget his dream of an easy surrender. Yet he didn't have the men and arms for a frontal assault. He knew it and he wondered how long it would take the islanders to suspect it as well. He had brought a force of some eight hundred men, but now half of them were sick and useless, while the island had a free population of over twenty thousand and a militia said to be nearly seven thousand. Worst of all, they appeared to have first-rate gunners manning their shore emplacements. Barbados could not be recovered by strength of arms; it could only be frightened, or lured, back into the hands of England. A knock sounded on the cabin door and he gruffly called permission to enter. Moments later the shadow moving toward him became James Powlett, the young vice admiral of the fleet. "Your servant, sir." Powlett removed his hat and brushed at its white plume as he strode gingerly through the cabin, picking his way around the glass. He was tall, clean-shaven, with hard blue eyes that never quite concealed his ambition. From the start he had made it no secret he judged Edmond Calvert too indecisive for the job at hand. "Has the reply come yet? I heard the rebels sent out a longboat with a packet." "Aye, they've replied. But I warrant the tune'll not be to your liking." Calvert gestured toward the Declaration on the table as he studied Powlett, concerned how long he could restrain the vice admiral's hot blood with cool reason. "They've chosen to defy the rule of Parliament. And they've denounced the Navigation Acts, claiming they refuse to halt their trade with the Dutchmen." "Then we've no course but to show them how royalist rebels are treated." "Is that what you'd have us do?" The admiral turned back to the window and stared at the rain-swept bay. "And how many men do you think we could set ashore now? Three hundred? Four? That's all we'd be able to muster who're still strong enough to lift a musket or a pike. Whilst the island's militia lies in wait for us--God knows how many thousand- men used to this miserable heat and likely plump as partridges." "Whatever we can muster, I'll warrant it'll be enough. They're raw planters, not soldiers." Powlett glanced at the Declaration, and decided to read it later. There were two kinds of men in the world, he often asserted: those who dallied and discussed, and those who acted. "We should ready an operation for tomorrow morning and have done with letters and declarations. All we need do is stage a diversion here in the harbor, then set men ashore up the coast at Jamestown." Calvert tugged at his wisp of a goatee and wondered momentarily how he could most diplomatically advise Powlett he was a hotheaded fool. Then he decided to dispense with diplomacy. "Those 'raw planters,' as you'd have them, managed to hole this flagship five times from their battery up there on the Point. So what makes you think they couldn't just as readily turn back an invasion? And if they did, what then, sir?" He watched Powlett's face harden, but he continued. "I can imagine no quicker way to jeopardize what little advantage we might have. And that advantage, sir, is they still don't know how weak we really are. We've got to conserve our strength, and try to organize our support on the island. We need to make contact with any here who'd support Parliament, and have them join with us when we land." The question now, he thought ruefully, is how much support we actually have. Sir Edmond Calvert, never having been convinced that beheading the lawful sovereign of England would be prudent, had opposed it from the start. Events appeared to have shown him right. Alive, King Charles had been reviled the length of the land for his arrogance and his Papist sympathies; dead, you'd think him a sovereign the equal of Elizabeth, given the way people suddenly began eulogizing him, that very same day. His execution had made him a martyr. And if royalist sentiment was swelling in England, in the wake of his death, how much more might there be here in the Americas--now flooded with refugees loyal to the monarchy. He watched his second-in-command slowly redden with anger as he continued, "I tell you we can only reclaim this island if it's divided. Our job now, sir, is to reason first, and only then resort to arms. We have to make them see their interests lie with the future England can provide." "Well, sir, if you'd choose that tack, then you can set it to the test quick enough. What about those men who've been swimming out to the ships all day, offering to be part of the invasion? I'd call that support." "Aye, it gave me hope at first. Then I talked with some of them, and learned they're mostly indentured servants. They claimed a rumor's going round the island that we're here to set them free. For all they care, we could as well be Spaniards." Calvert sighed. "I asked some of them about defenses on the island, and learned nothing I didn't already know. So I sent them back ashore, one and all. What we need now are fresh provisions, not more mouths to feed." That's the biggest question, he told himself again. Who'll be starved out first: a blockaded island or a fleet of ships with scarcely enough victuals to last out another fortnight? He turned back to the table, reached for the Declaration, and shoved it toward Powlett. "I think you'd do well to peruse this, sir. There's a tone of defiance here that's unsettling. I don't know if it's genuine, or a bluff. It's the unknowns that trouble me now, the damned uncertainties." Those uncertainties, he found himself thinking, went far beyond Barbados. According to the first steps of Cromwell's plan, after this centerpiece of the Caribbees had been subdued, part of the fleet was to continue on to any other of the settlements that remained defiant. But Cromwell's advisors felt that would probably not be necessary: after Barbados acknowledged the Commonwealth, the rest of the colonies were expected to follow suit. Then the Western Design could be set into motion, with Calvert's shipboard infantry augmented by fighting men from the island. The trouble with Cromwell's scheme, he now realized, was that it worked both ways. If Barbados succeeded in defying England's new government, then Virginia, Bermuda, the other islands of the Caribbees, all might also disown the Commonwealth. There even was talk they might try attaching themselves to Holland. It would be the end of English taxes and trade anywhere in the Americas except for that scrawny settlement of fanatic Puritans up in "New England." There would surely be no hope for the Western Design to succeed, and Edmond Calvert would be remembered as the man who lost England's richest lands. While Powlett studied the Declaration, skepticism growing on his face, Calvert turned back to the window and stared at the rainswept harbor, where a line of Dutch merchant fluyts bobbed at anchor. Good God. That's the answer. Maybe we can't land infantry, but we most assuredly can go in and take those damned Dutchmen and their cargo. They're bound to have provisions aboard. It's our best hope for keeping up the blockade. And taking them will serve another purpose, too. It'll send the Commonwealth's message loud and clear to all Holland's merchants: that trade in English settlements is for England. "There's presumption here, sir, that begs for a reply." The vice admiral tossed the Declaration back onto the table. "I still say the fittest answer is with powder and shot. There's been enough paper sent ashore already." "I'm still in command, Mr. Powlett, whether you choose to approve or no. There'll be no more ordnance used till we're sure there's no other way." He walked back to the table and slumped wearily into his chair. Already waiting in front of him were paper and an inkwell. What, he asked himself, would he write? How could he describe the bright new future that awaited a full partnership between England and these American settlers? The colonies in the Caribbees and along the Atlantic seaboard were merely England's first foothold in the New World. Someday they would be part of a vast empire stretching the length of the Americas. The holdings of Spain would fall soon, and after that England would likely declare war against Holland and take over Dutch holdings as well. There was already talk of that in London. The future was rich and wide, and English. I just have to make them see the future. A future of partnership, not defiance; one that'll bring wealth to England and prosperity to her colonies. They have to be made to understand that this Declaration is the first and last that'll ever be penned in the Americas. He turned and dismissed Powlett with a stiff nod. Then he listened a moment longer to the drumbeat of tropical rain on the deck above. It sounded wild now, uncontrollable, just like the spirits of nature he sensed lurking above the brooding land mass off his portside bow. Would this dark, lush island of the Caribbees harken to reason? Or would it foolishly choose to destroy itself with war? He sighed in frustration, inked his quill, and leaned forward to write. The Assembly Room was crowded to capacity, its dense, humid air rank with sweating bodies. Above the roar of wind and rain against the shutters, arguments sounded the length of the long oak table. Seated down one side and around the end were the twenty-two members of the Assembly; across from them were the twelve members of the Council. At the back of the room milled others who had been invited. Winston was there, along with Anthony Walrond and Katherine. Dalby Bedford was standing by the window, holding open the shutters and squinting through the rain-swept dusk as he studied the mast lights of the warships encircling the harbor. He wiped the rain and sweat from his face with a large handkerchief, then turned and walked back to his chair at the head of the table. "Enough, gentlemen. We've all heard it already." He waved his hand for quiet. "Let me try and sum up. Our Declaration has been delivered, which means we've formally rejected all their terms as they now stand. The question before us tonight is whether we try and see if there's room for negotiation, or whether we refuse a compromise and finish preparing to meet an invasion." Katherine listened to the words and sensed his uneasiness. She knew what his real worries were: how long would it be before the awkward peace between the Council and the Assembly fell apart in squabbling? What terms could the admiral of the fleet offer that would split the island, giving enough of the planters an advantage that they would betray the rest? Who would be the first to waver? The opening terms sent ashore by Edmond Calvert had sent a shock wave across Barbados--its standing Assembly and Council were both to be dissolved immediately. In future, England's New World settlements would be governed through Parliament. A powerless new Council would be appointed from London, and the Assembly, equally impotent, would eventually be filled by new elections scheduled at the pleasure of Commons. Added to that were the new "Navigation Acts," bringing high English prices and shipping fees. The suddenly ripening plum of the Americas would be plucked. The terms, signed by the admiral, had been ferried ashore by longboat and delivered directly to Dalby Bedford at the compound. Members of Council and the Assembly had already been gathering in the Assembly Room by then, anxious to hear the conditions read. Katherine remembered the worry on the governor's face as he had finished dressing to go down and read the fleet's ultimatum. "The first thing I have to do is get them to agree on something, anything. If they start quarreling again, we're good as lost." "Then try to avoid the question of recognizing Parliament." She'd watched him search for his plumed hat and rose to fetch it from the corner stand by the door. "I suspect most of the Council would be tempted to give in and do that, on the idea it might postpone a fight and give them time to finish this year's sugar while they appeal to Parliament to soften the terms." "Aye. The sugar's all they care about. That's why I think we best go at it backwards." He'd reached for his cane and tested it thoughtfully against the wide boards of the floor. "I think I'll start by raising that business in the Navigation Acts about not letting the Dutchmen trade. Not a man in the room'll agree to that, not even the Council. I'll have them vote to reject those, then see if that'll bring us enough unity to proceed to the next step." Just as he had predicted, the Council and the Assembly had voted unanimously to defy the new Navigation Acts. They could never endure an English stranglehold on island commerce, regardless of the other consequences. They had immediately drafted their own reply to the admiral's terms, a Declaration denouncing them and refusing to comply, and sent it back to the fleet. The question left unresolved, to await this evening's session, was whether they should agree to negotiate with Parliament at all. . . . "I say there's nothing to negotiate." Benjamin Briggs rose to his feet and faced the candle-lit room. "If we agreed to talk, it'd be the same as recognizing Parliament." "Are you saying the Council's decided to oppose recognition?" Bedford examined him in surprise. Perhaps the business about dissolving the Council had finally made an impression after all. "Unalterably, sir. We've talked it over, and we're beginning to think this idea of independence that came up a while back could have some merit." Briggs gazed around the room. "I'll grant I was of a different mind before we heard the terms. But now I say we stand firm. If we bow to the rule of Parliament, where we've got no representation, we'll never be rid of these Navigation Acts. And that's the end of free trade, free markets. We'd as well be slaves ourselves." He pushed back his black hat, revealing a leathery brow furrowed by the strain. "I'll wager Virginia will stand with us when their time comes. But the fleet's been sent here first, so for now we'll have to carry the burden of resistance ourselves, and so be it. Speaking for the Council, you know we've already ordered our militia out. They're to stay mustered till this thing's finished. We'd have the rest of the island's militia called up now, those men controlled by the Assembly, and have them on the beaches by daybreak." Dalby Bedford looked down the line of faces and knew he had gained the first step. The Council was with him. But now, he wondered suddenly, what about the Assembly? As an interim measure, eight hundred men had already been posted along the western and southern shorelines, militia from the regiments commanded by the members of the Council. The small freeholders had not yet mustered. Many of the men with five-acre plots were already voicing reservations about entering an all-out war with England, especially when its main purpose seemed to be preserving free markets for the big plantation owners' sugar. "I think it's time we talked about cavalry." Nicholas Whittington joined in, wiping his beard as he lifted his voice above the din of wind and rain. "I'd say there's apt to be at least four hundred horses on the island that we could pull together." He glared pointedly across the table at the Assemblymen, brown-faced men in tattered waistcoats. "That means every horse, in every parish. We have to make a show of force if we're to negotiate from strength. I propose we make an accounting, parish by parish. Any man with a nag who fails to bring it up for muster should be hanged for treason." As she watched the members of the Assembly start to mumble uneasily, Katherine realized that a horse represented a sizable investment for most small freeholders. How much use would they be anyway, she found herself wondering. The horses on the island were mostly for pulling plows. And the "cavalry" riding them would be farmers with rusty pikes. As the arguing in the room continued, she found herself thinking about Hugh Winston. The sight of him firing down on the English navy through the mists of dawn had erased all her previous contempt. Never before had she seen a man so resolute. She remembered again the way he had taken her arm, there at the last. Why had he done it? She turned to study him, his lined face still smeared with oily traces of powder smoke, and told herself they were a matched pair. She had determination too. He'd soon realize that, even if he didn't now. At the moment he was deep in a private conference with Johan Ruyters, who had asked to be present to speak for Dutch trading interests. The two of them had worked together all day, through the sultry heat that always preceded a storm. Winston and his men had helped heave the heavy Dutch guns onto makeshift barges and ferry them ashore, to be moved up the coast with ox-drawn wagons. Now he looked bone tired. She could almost feel the ache he must have in his back. As she stood studying Winston, her thoughts wandered again to Anthony. He had worked all day too, riding along the shore and reviewing the militia deployed to defend key points along the coast. What was this sudden ambivalence she felt toward him? He was tall, like Winston, and altogether quite handsome. More handsome by half than Hugh Winston, come to that. No, it was something about Winston's manner that excited her more than Anthony did. He was . . . yes, he was dangerous. She laughed to realize she could find that appealing. It violated all the common sense she'd so carefully cultivated over the years. Again she found herself wondering what he'd be like as a lover. . . . "And, sir, what then? After we've offered up our horses and our muskets and servants for your militia?" One of the members of the Assembly suddenly rose and faced the Council. It was John Russell, a tall, rawboned freeholder who held fifteen acres on the north side. "Who's to protect our wives and families after that?" He paused nervously to clear his throat and peered down the table. "To be frank, gentlemen, we're beginning to grow fearful of all these Africans that certain of you've bought and settled here now. With every white man on the island mustered and on the coast, together with all our horses and our muskets, we'll not have any way to defend our own if these new slaves decide to stage a revolt. And don't say it can't happen. Remember that rising amongst the indentures two years ago. Though we promptly hanged a dozen of the instigators and brought an end to it, we've taught no such lesson to these blacks. If they were to start something, say in the hills up in mid-island, we'd be hard pressed to stop them from slaughtering who they wished with those cane knives they use." He received supportive nods from several other Assemblymen. "We'd be leaving ourselves defenseless if we mustered every able-bodied man and horse down onto the shore." "If that's all that's troubling you, then you can ease your minds." Briggs pushed back his hat and smiled. "All the blacks've been confined to quarters, to the man, for the duration. Besides, they're scattered over the island, so there's no way they can organize anything. There's no call for alarm, I give you my solemn word. They're unarmed now and docile as lambs." "But what about those cane knives we see them carrying in the fields?" "Those have all been collected. The Africans've got no weapons. There's nothing they can do save beat on drums, which seems to keep them occupied more and more lately, anyhow." He looked around the room, pleased to see that the reassuring tone in his voice was having the desired effect. "I think we'd best put our heads to more pressing matters, such as the condition of the breastworks here and along the coasts." He turned toward Winston. "You've not had much to say tonight, sir, concerning today's work. I, for one, would welcome a word on the condition of our ordnance." All eyes at the table shifted to Winston, now standing by the window and holding a shutter pried open to watch as the winds and rain bent the tops of the tall palms outside. Slowly he turned, his lanky form seeming to lengthen, and surveyed the room. His eyes told Katherine he was worried; she'd begun to know his moods. "The ordnance lent by the Dutchmen is in place now." He thumbed at Ruyters. "For which I'd say a round of thanks is overdue." "Hear, hear." The planters' voices chorused, and Ruyters nodded his acknowledgement. Then he whispered something quickly to Winston and disappeared out the door, into the rain. The seaman waited, watching him go, then continued, "You've got gunners--some my men and some yours--assigned now at the Point, as well as at Jamestown and over at Oistins Bay. I figure there's nowhere else they can try a landing in force . . . though they always might try slipping a few men ashore with longboats somewhere along the coast. That's why you've got to keep the militia out and ready." "But if they do try landing in some spot where we've got no cannon, what then, sir?" Briggs' voice projected above the howl of the storm. "You've got ordnance in all the locations where they can safely put in with a frigate. Any other spot would mean a slow, dangerous approach. But if they try it, your militia should be able to meet them at the water's edge and turn them back. That is, if you can keep your men mustered." He straightened his pistols and pulled his cloak about him. "Now if it's all the same, I think I'll leave you to your deliberations. I've finished what it was I'd offered to do." "One moment. Captain, if you please." Anthony Walrond stepped in front of him as the crowd began to part. "I think you've done considerably more than you proposed. Unless it included basely betraying the island." Winston stopped and looked at him. "I'm tired enough to let that pass." "Are you indeed, sir?" Walrond turned toward the table. "We haven't yet thanked Captain Winston for his other service, that being whilst he was making a show of helping deploy the Dutchmen's ordnance, he ordered a good fifty of his new men, those Irish indentures he's taken, to swim out to the ships of the fleet and offer their services to the Roundheads." He turned to the room. "It was base treachery. And reason enough for a hempen collar . . . if more was required." "You, sir, can go straight to hell." Winston turned and started pushing through the planters, angrily proceeding toward the door. Katherine stared at him, disbelieving. Before he could reach the exit, she elbowed her way through the crowd and confronted him. "Is what he said true?" He pushed back his hair and looked down at her. "It's really not your concern. Miss Bedford." "Then you've much to explain, if not to me, to the men in this room." "I didn't come down here tonight to start explaining." He gestured toward the door. "If you want to hear about it, then why not call in some of the men who swam out to the ships. They're back now and they're outside in the rain, or were. I'm sure they'll be pleased to confess the full details. I have no intention of responding to Master Walrond's inquisition." "Then we most certainly will call them in." She pushed her way briskly to the doorway. Outside a crowd of indentures stood huddled in the sheets of rain. Timothy Farrell, who had appointed himself leader, was by the door waiting for Winston. The planters watched as Katherine motioned him in. He stepped uncertainly through the doorway, bowing, and then he removed his straw hat deferentially. "Can I be of service to Yor Ladyship?" "You can explain yourself, sir." She seized his arm and escorted him to the head of the table. "Is it true Captain Winston ordered you and those men out there to swim out to the ships and offer to consort with their forces?" "We wasn't offerin' to consort, beggin' Yor Ladyship's pardon. Not at all. That's not our inclination, as I'm a Christian." Farrell grinned. "No, by the Holy Virgin, what we did was offer to help them." He glanced toward Winston, puzzling. "An' whilst they were mullin' that over, we got a good look below decks. An' like I reported to His Worship, I'd say they've not got provision left to last more'n a fortnight. An' a good half the men sailin' with them are so rotted with scurvy they'd be pressed to carry a half-pike across this room. Aye, between decks they're all cursin' the admiral an' sayin' he's brought 'em out here to starve in the middle o' this plagued, sun-cooked wilderness." She turned slowly toward Winston. "You sent these men out as spies?" "Who else were we going to send?" He started again toward the door. "Well, you could have told us, sir." "So some of the Puritan sympathizers on this island could have swum out after them and seen to it that my men were shot, or hanged from a yardarm. Pox on it." "But this changes everything," Briggs interjected, his face flooding with pleasure. "This man's saying the fleet's not got the force to try a landing." "You only believe half of what you hear." Winston paused to look around the room. "Even if it's true, it probably just means they'll have to attack sooner. Before their supplies get lower and they lose even more men." He pushed on toward the door. "Desperate men do desperate things. There'll be an attempt on the island, you can count on it. And you'll fight best if you're desperate too." Suddenly he stopped again and glanced back at Briggs. "By the way, I don't know exactly who your speech on the docile slaves was intended to fool. Your Africans just may have some plans afoot. I doubt they care overmuch who wins this war, you or Cromwell. So look to it and good night." He turned and gestured for Farrell to follow as he walked out into the blowing night rain. Katherine watched him leave, recoiling once more against his insolence. Or maybe admiring him for it. She moved quickly through the milling crowd to the side of Dalby Bedford, bent over and whispered something to him, then turned and slipped out the door. The burst of rain struck her in the face, and the wind blew her hair across her eyes. Winston had already started off down the hill, the crowd of indentures trailing after. Like puppy dogs, she found herself thinking. He certainly has a way with his men. She caught up her long skirts and pushed through the crowd, their straw hats and shoes now bedraggled by the downpour. "Captain, I suppose we owe you an apology, and I've come to offer it." She finally reached his side. "No one else thought of having some men swim out to spy on the fleet." "Katherine, no one else in there has thought of a lot of things. They're too busy arguing about who can spare a draft horse." "What do you mean?" She looked up. "Thought of what?" "First, they should be off-loading what's left of the food and supplies on those Dutch merchantmen blockaded in the bay. Ruyters agreed just now to put his men on it tonight, but I'm afraid it's too late." He stared through the rain, toward the bay. "Something tells me the fleet's likely to move in tomorrow and commandeer whatever ships they can get their hands on. It's exactly what any good commander would do." He continued bitterly. "There're enough supplies on those merchantmen, flour and dried corn, to feed the island for weeks. Particularly on the ships that made port the last few days and haven't finished unlading. Believe me, you're going to need it, unless you expect to start living on sugar cane and horsemeat. But this island's too busy fighting with itself right now to listen to anybody." He turned and headed on through the cluster of indentures. "I'm going down to try and off-load my own supplies tonight, before it's too late." She seized her skirts and pushed after him. "Well, I still want to thank you . . . Hugh. For what you've done for us." He met her gaze, smiled through the rain, and raised his hand to stop her. "Wait a minute. Before you go any further--and maybe say something foolish--you'd better know I'm not doing it for your little island of Barbados." "But you're helping us fight to stay a free state. If we can stand up to the fleet, then we can secure home rule, the first in the Americas. After us, maybe Virginia will do the same. Who knows, then some of the other settlements will probably . . ." "A free state?" He seemed to snort. "Free for who? These greedy planters? Nobody else here'll be free." He pulled his cloak tighter about him. "Just so you'll understand, let me assure you I'm not fighting to help make Barbados anything. I'm just trying to make sure I keep my frigate. Besides, Barbados'll never be 'free,' to use that word you seem to like so much. The most that'll ever happen here is it'll change masters. Look around you. It's going to be a settlement of slaves and slaveholders forever, owned and squeezed by a Council, or a Parliament, or a king, or a somebody. From now on." "You're wrong." Why did he try so hard to be infuriating? "Home rule here is just a start. Someday there'll be no more indentures, and who knows, maybe one day they'll even decide to let the slaves be free." She wanted to grab him and shake him, he was so shortsighted. "You just refuse to try and understand. Isn't there anything you care about?" "I care about living life my own way. It may not sound like much of a cause, but it's taken me long enough to get around to it. I've given up thinking that one day I'll go back home and work for the honor of the Winston name, or settle down and grow fat on some sugar plantation in the Caribbees." He turned on her, almost shouting against the storm. "Let me tell you something. I'm through living by somebody else's rules. Right now I just want to get out. Out to a place I'll make for myself. So if getting there means I first have to fight alongside the likes of Briggs and Walrond to escape Barbados, then that's what it'll be. And when I fight, make no mistake, I don't plan to lose." "That's quite a speech. How long have you been practicing it?" She seized his arm. "And the point, I take it, is that you like to run away from difficulties?" "That's exactly right, and I wish you'd be good enough to have a brief word with the admiral of the fleet out there about it." He was smiling again, his face almost impish in the rain. "Tell him there's a well- known American smuggler who'd be pleased to sail out of here if he'd just open up the blockade for an hour or so." "Well, why not ask him yourself? He might be relieved, if only to be rid of you and your gunners." She waited till a roll of thunder died away. "And after you've sailed away? What then?" "I plan to make my own way. Just as I said. I'm heading west by northwest, to maybe turn around a few things here in the Caribbean. But right now I've got more pressing matters, namely keeping my provisions, and those of the Dutchmen, out of the hands of the fleet." He turned and continued toward the shore, a dim expanse of sand shrouded in dark and rain. "So you'd best go on back to the Assembly Room, Katherine, unless you plan to gather up those petticoats and lend me a hand." "Perhaps I just will." She caught up with him, matching his stride. "What?" "Since you think I'm so useless, you might be surprised to know I can carry tubs of Hollander cheese as well as you can." She was holding her skirts out of the mud. "Why shouldn't I? We both want the same thing, to starve the Roundheads. We just want it for different reasons." "It's no place for a woman down here." "You said that to me once before. When we were going out to Briggs' sugarworks. Frankly I'm a little weary of hearing it, so why don't you find another excuse to try telling me what to do." He stopped and looked down again. Waves of rain battered against the creases in his face. "All right, Katherine. Or Katy, as I've heard your father call you. If you want to help, then come on. But you've got to get into some breeches if you don't want to drown." His dour expression melted into a smile. "I'll try and find you a pair on the _Defiance_. It'll be a long night's work." "You can tell everyone I'm one of your seamen. Or one of the indentures." He looked down at her bodice and exploded with laughter. "I don't think anybody's apt to mistake you for one of them. But hadn't you best tell somebody where you'll be?" "What I do is my own business." She looked past him, toward the shore. "So be it." A long fork of lightning burst across the sky, illuminating the shoreline ahead of them. The muddy road was leveling out now as they neared the bay. The ruts, which ran like tiny rapids down the hill, had become placid streams, curving their way seaward. Ahead, the mast lanterns of the Dutch merchantmen swayed arcs through the dark, and the silhouettes of Dutch seamen milled along the shore, their voices muffled, ghostlike in the rain. Then she noticed the squat form of Johan Ruyters trudging toward them. "Pox on it, we can't unlade in this squall. And in the dark besides. There's doubtless a storm brewing out there, maybe even a _huracan_, from the looks of the swell." He paused to nod at Katherine. "Your servant, madam." Then he turned back at Winston. "There's little we can do now, on my honor." "Well, I'll tell you one thing you can do, if you've got the brass." "And what might that be, sir?" "Just run all the ships aground here along the shore. That way they can't be taken, and then we can unlade after the storm runs its course." "Aye, that's a possibility I'd considered. In truth I'm thinking I might give it a try. The _Zeelander's_ been aground before. Her keel's fine oak, for all the barnacles." His voice was heavy with rue. "But I've asked around, and most of the other men don't want to run the risk." "Well, you're right about the squall. From the looks of the sea, I'd agree we can't work in this weather. So maybe I'll just go ahead and run the _Defiance _aground." He studied the ship, now rolling in the swell and straining at her anchor lines. "There'll never be a better time, with the bay up the way it is now." "God's blood, it's a quandary." Ruyters turned and peered toward the horizon. The mast lights of the fleet were all but lost in the sheets of rain. "I wish I knew what those bastards are thinking right now. But it's odds they'll try to move in and pilfer our provisions as soon as the sea lets up. Moreover, we'd be fools to try using any ordnance on them, bottled in the way we are. They've got us trapped, since they surely know the battery up there on the Point won't open fire on the bay while we're in it." He whirled on Winston. "You wouldn't, would you?" "And risk putting a round through the side of these ships here? Not a chance!" "Aye, they'll reason that out by tomorrow, no doubt. So grounding these frigates may be the only way we can keep them out of English hands. Damn it all, I'd best go ahead and bring her up, before the seas get any worse." He bowed toward Katherine. "Your most obedient, madam. If you'll be good enough to grant me leave . . ." "Now don't try anything foolish." Winston was eyeing him. "What are you suggesting?" "Don't go thinking you'll make a run for it in the storm. You'll never steer past the reefs." "Aye. I've given that passing thought as well. If I had a bit more ballast, I'd be tempted." He spat into the rain, then looked back. "And I'd take odds you've considered the same." "But I've not got the ballast either. Or that Spaniard of yours we agreed on. Don't forget our bargain." "My word's always been my bond, sir, though I wonder if there'll ever be any sugar to ship. For that matter, you may be lucky ever to see open seas again yourself. Just like the rest of us." Ruyters sighed. "Aye, every Christian here tonight's wishing he'd never heard of Barbados." He nodded farewell and turned to wade toward a waiting longboat. In moments he had disappeared into the rain. "Well, Miss Katy Bedford, unless the rest of the Dutchmen have the foresight Ruyters has, those merchantmen out there and all their provisions will be in the fleet's hands by sundown tomorrow." He reached for her arm. "But not the _Defiance_. Come on and I'll get you a set of dry clothes. And maybe a tankard of sack to warm you up. We're about to go on a very short and very rough voyage." She watched as he walked to where the indentures were waiting. He seemed to be ordering them to find shelter and return in the morning. Timothy Farrell spoke something in return. Winston paused a moment, shrugged and rummaged his pockets, then handed him a few coins. The Irishmen all saluted before heading off toward the cluster of taverns over next to the bridge. "Come on." He came trudging back. "The longboat's moored down here, if it hasn't been washed out to sea yet." "Where're your men?" "My gunnery mates are at the batteries, and the rest of the lads are assigned to the militia. I ordered John and a few of the boys to stay on board to keep an eye on her, but the rest are gone." His face seemed drawn. "Have no fear. In this sea it'll be no trick to ground her. Once we weigh the anchor, the swell should do the rest." As he led her into the water, the surf splashing against her shins, she reflected that the salt would ruin her taffeta petticoats, then decided she didn't care. The thrill of the night and the sea were worth it. Directly ahead of them a small longboat bobbed in the water. "Grab your skirts, and I'll hoist you in." She had barely managed to seize the sides of her dress before a wave washed over them both. She was still sputtering, salt in her mouth, as he swept her up into his arms and settled her over the side. She gasped as the boat dipped crazily in the swell, pounded by the sheets of rain. He traced the mooring line back to the post at the shore where it had been tied and quickly loosened it. Then he shoved the boat out to sea and rolled over the side, as easily as though he were dropping into a hammock. The winds lashed rain against them as he strained at the oars, but slowly they made way toward the dark bulk of the _Defiance_. He rowed into the leeward side and in moments John Mewes was there, reaching for the line to draw them alongside. He examined Katherine with a puzzled expression as he gazed down at them. " 'Tis quite a night, m'lady, by my life." He reached to take her hand as Winston hoisted her up. "Welcome aboard. No time for Godfearin' folk to be at sea in a longboat, that I'll warrant." "That it's not, John." Winston grasped a deadeye and drew himself over the side. "Call the lads to station. After I take Miss Bedford back to the cabin and find a dry change of clothes for her, we're going to weigh anchor and try beaching the ship." "Aye." Mewes beamed as he squinted through the rain. "In truth, I've been thinkin' the same myself. The fomicatin' Roundheads'll be in the bay and aimin' to take prizes soon as the weather breaks." He headed toward the quarterdeck. "But they'll never get this beauty, God is my witness." "Try hoisting the spritsail, John, and see if you can bring the bow about." He took Katherine's hand as he helped her duck under the shrouds. "This way, Katy." "What do you have for me to wear?" She steadied herself against a railing as the slippery deck heaved in the waves, but Winston urged her forward. He was still gripping her hand as he led her into the companionway, a dark hallway beneath the quarterdeck illuminated by a single lantern swaying in the gusts of wind. "We don't regularly sail with women in the crew." His words were almost lost in a clap of thunder as he shoved open the door of the Great Cabin. "What would you say to some of my breeches and a doublet?" "What would you say to it?" He laughed and swept the dripping hair out of his eyes as he ushered her in. "I'd say I prefer seeing women in dresses. But we'll both have to make do." He walked to his locker, seeming not to notice the roll of the ship, and flipped open the lid. "Take your pick while I go topside." He gestured toward the sideboard. "And there's port and some tankards in there." "How'll I loosen my bodice?" "Send for your maid, as always." There was a scream of wind down the companionway as he wrenched open the door, then slammed it again behind him. She was still grasping the table, trying to steady herself against the roll of the ship, when she heard muffled shouts from the decks above and then the rattle of a chain. She reached back and began to work at the knot in the long laces that secured her bodice. English fashions, which she found absurd in sweltering Barbados, required all women of condition to wear this heavy corset, which laced all the way up the back, over their shift. This morning it had been two layers of whitest linen, with strips of whalebone sewn between and dainty puffed sleeves attached, but now it was soaked with salt water and brown from the sand and flotsam of the bay. She tugged and wriggled until it was loose enough to draw over her head. She drew a breath of relief as her breasts came free beneath her shift, and then she wadded the bodice into a soggy bundle and discarded it onto the floor of the cabin. Her wet shift still clung to her and she looked down for a moment, taking pleasure in the full curve of her body. Next she began unpinning her skirt at the spot where it had been looped up stylishly to display her petticoat. The ship rolled again and the lid of the locker dropped shut. As the floor tilted back to an even keel, she quickly stepped out of the soaking dress and petticoats, letting them collapse onto the planking in a dripping heap. In the light of the swinging lamp the once-blue taffeta looked a muddy gray. The ship suddenly pitched backward, followed by a low groan that sounded through the timbers as it shuddered to a dead stop. The floor of the cabin lay at a tilt, sloping down toward the stern. She stepped to the locker and pried the lid back open. Inside were several changes of canvas breeches, as well as a fine striped silk pair. She laughed as she pulled them out to inspect them in the flickering light. What would he say if I were to put these on, she wondered? They're doubtless part of his vain pride. Without hesitating she shook out the legs and drew them on under her wet shift. There was no mirror, but as she tied the waiststring she felt their sensuous snugness about her thighs. The legs were short, intended to fit into hose or boots, and they revealed her fine turn of ankle. Next she lifted out a velvet doublet, blue and embroidered, with gold buttons down the front. She admired it a moment, mildly surprised that he would own such a fine garment, then laid it on the table while she pulled her dripping shift over her head. The rush of air against her skin made her suddenly aware how hot and sultry the cabin really was. Impulsively she walked back to the windows aft and unlatched them. Outside the sea churned and pounded against the stern, while dark rain still beat against the quartergallery. She took a deep breath as she felt the cooling breeze wash over her clammy face and breasts. She was wondering how her hair must look when she heard a voice. "You forgot your port." She gasped quietly as she turned. Hugh Winston was standing beside her, holding out a tankard. "Well, do you care to take it?" He smiled and glanced down at her breasts. "My, but that was no time at all." She reached for the tankard, then looked back toward the table where her wet shift lay. "Grounding a ship's no trick. You just weigh the anchor and pray she comes about. Getting her afloat again's the difficulty." He leaned against the window frame and lifted his tankard. "So here's to freedom again someday, Katy. Mine, yours." She started to drink, then remembered herself and turned toward the table to retrieve her shift. "I don't expect you'll be needing that." She continued purposefully across the cabin. "Well, sir, I didn't expect . . ." "Oh, don't start now being a coquette. I like you too much the way you are." A stroke of lightning split down the sky behind him. He drank again, then set down his tankard and was moving toward her. "I'm not sure I know what you mean." "Take it as a compliment. I despise intriguing women." He seemed to look through her. "Though you do always manage to get whatever you're after, one way or other, going about it your own way." A clap of thunder sounded through the open stern windows. "I'd also wager you've had your share of experience in certain personal matters. For which I suppose there's your royalist gallant to thank." "That's scarcely your concern, is it? You've no claim over me." She settled her tankard on the table, reached for his velvet doublet--at least it was dry--and started draping it over her bare shoulders. "Nor am I sure I relish bluntness as much as you appear to." "It's my fashion. I've been out in the Caribbees too long, dodging musket balls, to bother with a lot of fancy court chatter." "There's bluntness, and there's good breeding. I trust you at least haven't forgotten the difference." "I suppose you think you can enlighten me." "Well, since I'm wearing your breeches, which appear meant for a gentleman, perhaps it'd not be amiss to teach you how to address a lady." She stepped next to him, her eyes mischievous. "Try repeating after me. 'Yours is a comely shape, Madam, on my life, that delights my very heart. And your fine visage might shame a cherubim.'" She suppressed a smile at his dumbfounded look, then continued. "'Those eyes fire my thoughts with promised sweetness, and those lips are like petals of the rose . . .' " "God's blood!" He caught her open doublet and drew her toward him. "If it's a fop you'd have me be, I suppose the rest could probably go something like '. . . begging to be kissed. They seem fine and soft. Are they kind as well?'" He slipped his arms about her and pulled her against his wet jerkin. After the first shock, she realized he tasted of salt and gunpowder. As a sudden gust of rain from the window extinguished the sea lamp, she felt herself being slowly lowered against the heavy oak table in the center of the cabin. Now his mouth had moved to her breasts, as he half-kissed, half-bit her nipples--whether in desire or merely to tease she could not tell. Finally she reached and drew his face up to hers. "I'm not in love with you, Captain Winston. Never expect that. I could never give any man that power over me." She laughed at his startled eyes. "But I wouldn't mind if you wanted me." "Katy, I've wanted you for a fortnight." He drew back and looked at her. "I had half a mind not to let you away from this ship the last time you were here. This time I don't plan to make the same mistake. Except I don't like seeing you in my own silk breeches." "I think they fit me very nicely." "Maybe it's time I showed you what I think." He abruptly drew her up and seized the string at her waist. In a single motion, he pulled it open and slipped away the striped legs. Then he admired her a moment as he drew his hands appreciatively down her long legs. "Now I'd like to show you how one man who's forgot his London manners pays court to a woman." He pulled her to him and kissed her once more. Then without a word he slipped his arms under her and cradled her against him. He carried her across the cabin to the window, and gently seated her on its sill. Now the lightning flashed again, shining against the scar on his cheek. He lifted her legs and twined them around his shoulders, bringing her against his mouth. A glow of sensation blossomed somewhere within her as he began to tease her gently with his tongue. She tightened her thighs around him, astonished at the swell of pleasure. The cabin was dissolving, leaving nothing but a great, consuming sensation that was engulfing her, readying to flood her body. As she arched expectantly against him, he suddenly paused. "Don't stop now . . ." She gazed at him, her vision blurred. He smiled as he drew back. "If you want lovemaking from me, you'll have to think of somebody besides yourself. I want you to be with me, Katy Bedford. Not ahead." He rose up and slipped away his jerkin. Then his rough, wet breeches. He toyed with her sex, bringing her wide in readiness, then he entered her quickly and forcefully. She heard a gasp, and realized it was her own voice. It was as though she had suddenly discovered some missing part of herself. For an instant nothing else in the world existed. She clasped her legs about his waist and moved against him, returning his own intensity. Now the sensation was coming once more, and she clung to him as she wrenched against his thighs. All at once he shoved against her powerfully, then again, and she found herself wanting to thrust her body into his, merge with him, as he lunged against her one last time. Then the lightning flared and the cabin seemed to melt into white. After a moment of quiet, he wordlessly took her in his arms. For the first time she noticed the rain and the salt spray from the window washing over them. "God knows the last thing I need now is a woman to think about." He smiled and kissed her. "I'd probably be wise to pitch you out to sea this minute, while I still have enough sense to do it. But I don't think I will." "I wouldn't let you anyway. I'm not going to let you so much as move. You can just stay precisely where you are." She gripped him tighter and pulled his lips down to hers. "If anything, I should have done with you, here and now." "Then come on. We'll go outside together." He lifted her through the open stern window, onto the quartergallery. The skies were an open flood. She looked at him and reached to gently caress his scarred cheek. "What was that you were doing--at the first? I never knew men did such things." Her hand traveled across his chest, downward. "Do . . . do women ever do that too?" He laughed. "It's not entirely unheard of in this day and age." "Then you must show me how. I'll wager no Puritan wife does it." "I didn't know you were a Puritan. You certainly don't make love like one." "I'm not. I want to be as far from them as I can be." Her lips began to move down his chest. "Then come away with me." He smoothed her wet hair. "To Jamaica." "Jamaica?" She looked up at him in dismay. "My God, what are you saying? The Spaniards . . ." "I'll manage the Spaniards." He reached down and kissed her again. "You know, after this morning, up on the Point, I'd almost believe you." She paused and looked out at the line of warships on the horizon, dull shadows in the rain. "But nobody's going to leave here for a long time now." "I will. And the English navy's not going to stop me." He slipped his arms around her and drew her against him. "Why not forget you're supposed to wed Anthony Walrond and come along? We're alike, you and me." "Hugh, you know I can't leave." She slid a leg over him and pressed her thigh against his. "But at least I've got you here tonight. I think I already fancy this. So let's not squander all our fine time with a lot of talk." Chapter Nine "I've changed my mind. I'll not be part of it." Serina pulled at his arm and realized she was shouting to make herself heard above the torrent around them. In the west the lightning flared again. "Take me back. Now." Directly ahead the wide thatched roof of the mill house loomed out of the darkness. Atiba seemed not to hear as he circled his arm about her waist and urged her forward. A sheet of rain off the building's eaves masked the doorway, and he drew her against him to cover her head as they passed through. Inside, the packed earthen floor was sheltered and dry. The warmth of the room caused her misgivings to ebb momentarily; the close darkness was like a protective cloak, shielding them from the storm. Still, the thought of what lay ahead filled her with dread. The Jesuit teachers years ago in Brazil had warned you could lose your soul by joining in pagan African rituals. Though she didn't believe in the Jesuits' religion, she still feared their warning. She had never been part of a true Yoruba ceremony for the gods; she had only heard them described, and that so long ago she had forgotten almost everything. When Atiba appeared at her window, a dark figure in the storm, and told her she must come with him, she had at first refused outright. In reply he had laughed lightly, kissed her, then whispered it was essential that she be present. He did not say why; instead he went on to declare that tonight was the perfect time. No cane was being crushed; the mill house was empty, the oxen in their stalls, the entire plantation staff ordered to quarters. Benjamin Briggs and the other _branco _masters were assembled in Bridgetown, holding a council of war against the Ingles ships that had appeared in the bay at sunrise. When finally she'd relented and agreed to come, he had insisted she put on a white shift--the whitest she had--saying in a voice she scarcely recognized that tonight she must take special care with everything. Tonight she must be Yoruba. "Surely you're not afraid of lightning and thunder?" He finally spoke as he gestured for her to sit, the false lightness still in his tone. "Don't be. It could be a sign from Shango, that he is with us. Tonight the heavens belong to him." He turned and pointed toward the mill. "Just as in this room, near this powerful iron machine of the _branco_, the earth is sacred to Ogun. That's why he will come tonight if we prepare a place for him." She looked blankly at the mill. Although the rollers were brass, the rest of the heavy framework was indeed iron, the metal consecrated to Ogun. She remembered Atiba telling her that when a Yoruba swore an oath in the great palace of the Oba in Ife, he placed his hand not on a Bible but on a huge piece of iron, shaped like a tear and weighing over three hundred pounds. The very existence of Yorubaland was ensured by iron. Ogun's metal made possible swords, tipped arrows, muskets. If no iron were readily at hand, a Yoruba would swear by the earth itself, from whence came ore. "I wish you would leave your Yoruba gods in Africa, where they belong." How, she asked herself, could she have succumbed so readily to his preto delusions? She realized now that the Yoruba were still too few, too powerless to revolt. She wanted to tell him to forget his gods, his fool's dream of rebellion and freedom. He glanced back at her and laughed. "But our gods, our Orisa, are already here, because our people are here." He looked away, his eyes hidden in the dark, and waited for a roll of thunder to die away. The wind dropped suddenly, for an instant, and there was silence except for the drumbeat of rain. "Our gods live inside us, passed down from generation to generation. We inherit the spirit of our fathers, just as we take on their strength, their appearance. Whether we are free or slave, they will never abandon us." He touched her hand gently. "Tonight, at last, perhaps you will begin to understand." She stared at him, relieved that the darkness hid the disbelief in her eyes. She had never seen any god, anywhere, nor had anyone else. His gods were not going to make him, or her, any less a slave to the _branco_. She wanted to grab his broad shoulders and shake sense into him. Tonight was the first, maybe the last, time that Briggs Hall would be theirs alone. Why had he brought her here instead, for some bizarre ceremony? Finally her frustration spilled out. "What if I told you I don't truly believe in your Ogun and your Shango and all the rest? Any more than I believe in the Christian God and all His saints?" He lifted her face up. "But what if you experienced them yourself? Could you still deny they exist?" "The Christians claim their God created everything in the world." Again the anger flooding over her, like the rain outside. She wanted to taunt him. "If that's true, maybe He created your gods too." "The Christian God is nothing. Where is He? Where does He show Himself? Our Orisa create the world anew every day, rework it, change it, right before our eyes. That's how we know they are alive." His gaze softened. "You'll believe in our gods before tonight is over, I promise you." "How can you be so sure?" "Because one of them is already living inside you. I know the signs." He stood back and examined her. "I think you are consecrated to a certain god very much like you, which is as it should be." He reached down and picked up a cloth sack he had brought. As the lightning continued to flare through the open doorway, he began to extract several long white candles. Finally he selected one and held it up, then with an angry grunt pointed to the black rings painted around it at one-inch intervals. "Do you recognize this? It's what the _branco _call a 'bidding candle.' Did you know they used candles like this on the ship? They sold a man each time the candle burned down to one of these rings. I wanted Ogun to see this tonight." He struck a flint against a tinderbox, then lit the candle, shielding it from the wind till the wick was fully ablaze. Next he turned and stationed it on the floor near the base of the mill, where it would be protected from the gale. She watched the tip flicker in the wind, throwing a pattern of light and shadow across his long cheek, highlighting the three small parallel scars. His eyes glistened in concentration as he dropped to his knees and retrieved a small bag from his waistband. He opened it, dipped in his hand, and brought out a fistful of white powder; then he moved to a smooth place on the floor and began to dribble the powder out of his fist, creating a series of curved patterns on the ground. "What are you doing?" "I'm preparing the symbol of Ogun." "Will drawings in the dirt lure your god?" He did not look up, merely continued to lay down the lines of white powder, letting a stream slip from his closed fist. "Take care what you say. I am consecrating this earth to Ogun. A Yoruba god will not be mocked. I have seen hunters return from an entire season in the forest empty-handed because they scorned to make offerings." "I don't understand. The Christians say their God is in the sky. Where are these gods of Africa supposed to be?" She was trying vainly to recall the stories her mother Dara and the old _babalawo _of Pernambuco had told. But there was so much, especially the part about Africa, that she had willed herself to forget. "First you claim they are already inside you, and then you say they must come here from somewhere." "Both things are true. The Orisa are in some ways like ordinary men and women." He paused and looked up. "Just as we are different, each of them is also. Shango desires justice--though wrongs must be fairly punished, he is humane. Ogun cares nothing for fairness. He demands vengeance." "How do you know what these gods are supposed to want? You don't have any sacred books like the Christians. . . ." "Perhaps the Christians need their books. We don't. Our gods are not something we study, they're what we are." "Then why call them gods?" "Because they are a part of us we cannot reach except through them. They dwell deep inside our selves, in the spirit that all the Yoruba peoples share." He looked down and continued to lay out the drawing as he spoke. "But I can't describe it, because it lies in a part of the mind that has no words." He reached to take more of the white powder from the bag and shifted to a new position as he continued to fashion the diagram, which seemed to be the outline of some kind of bush. "You see, except for Olorun, the sky god, all our Orisa once dwelt on earth, but instead of dying they became the communal memory of our people. When we call forth one of the gods, we reach into this shared consciousness where they wait. If a god comes forth, he may for a time take over the body of one of us as his temporary habitation." He paused and looked up. "That's why I wanted you here tonight. To show you what it means to be Yoruba." He straightened and critically surveyed the drawing. His eyes revealed his satisfaction. On the ground was a complex rendering of an African cotton tree, the representing-image of Ogun. Its trunk was flanked on each side by the outline of an elephant tusk, another symbol of the Yoruba god. He circled it for a moment, appraising it, then went to the cache of sacred utensils he had hidden behind the mill that afternoon and took up a stack of palm fronds. Carefully he laid a row along each side of the diagram. "That's finished now. Next I'll make the symbol for Shango. It's simpler." He knelt and quickly began to lay down the outline of a double-headed axe, still using the white powder from the bag. The lines were steady, flawless. She loved the lithe, deft intensity of his body as he drew his sacred signs--nothing like the grudging branco artists who had decorated the cathedral in Pernambuco with Catholic saints, all the while half-drunk on Portuguese wine. "Where did you learn all these figures?" He smiled. "I've had much practice, but I was first taught by my father, years ago in Ife." The drawing was already done. He examined it a moment, approved it, and laid aside the bag of white powder. She picked it up and took a pinch to her lips. It had the tangy bitterness of cassava flour. "Now I'll prepare a candle for Shango." He rummaged through the pile. "But in a way it's for you too, so I'll find a pure white one, not a bidding candle." "What do you mean, 'for me too'?" He seemed not to hear as he lit the taper and placed it beside the symbol. Next he extracted a white kerchief from his waistband and turned to her. "I've brought something for you. A gift. Here, let me tie it." He paused to caress her, his fingertips against her cinnamon skin, then he lovingly pulled the kerchief around her head. He lifted up her long hair, still wet from the rain, and carefully coiled it under the white cloth. Finally he knotted it on top, African style. "Tonight you may discover you truly are a Yoruba woman, so it is well that you look like one." Abruptly, above the patter of rain, came the sound of footfalls in the mud outside. She glanced around and through the dark saw the silhouettes of the Yoruba men from the slave quarters. The first three carried long bundles swathed in heavy brown wraps to protect them from the rain. They entered single file and nodded in silence to Atiba before gathering around the diagrams on the floor to bow in reverence. After a moment, the men carrying the bundles moved to a clear space beside the mill and began to unwrap them. As the covering fell away, the fresh goatskin tops of three new drums sparkled white in the candlelight. She watched the drummers settle into position, each nestling an instrument beneath his left arm, a curved wooden mallet in his right hand. From somewhere in her past there rose up an identical scene, years ago in Brazil, when all the Yoruba, men and women, had gathered to dance. Then as now there were three hourglass-shaped instruments, all held horizontally under the drummer's arm as they were played. The largest, the _iya ilu_, was almost three feet long and was held up by a wide shoulder strap, just as this one was tonight. The other two, the _bata _and the _go-go_, were progressively smaller, and neither was heavy enough to require a supporting strap. The man holding the _iya ilu_ tonight was Obewole, his weathered coffee face rendered darker still by the contrast of a short grey beard. His muscles were conditioned by decades of swinging a long iron sword; in the fields he could wield a cane machete as powerfully as any young warrior. He shifted the shoulder strap one last time, then held out the mallet in readiness and looked toward Atiba for a signal to begin. When Atiba gave a nod, a powerful drum roll sounded above the roar of the gale. Then Obewole began to talk with the drum, a deep-toned invocation to the ceremonial high gods of the Yoruba pantheon, Eleggua and Olorun. "_Omi tutu a Eleggua, omi tutu a mi ileis, Olorun modu-pue ..."_ As the drum spoke directly to the gods, the line of men passed by Atiba and he sprinkled each with liquor from a calabash, flinging droplets from his fingertips like shooting stars in the candlelight. Each man saluted him, their _babalawo_, by dropping their heads to the ground in front of him while balanced on their fists, then swinging their bodies right and left, touching each side to the floor in the traditional Yoruba obeisance. The office of _babalawo _embodied all the struggles, the triumphs, the pride of their race. When the last man had paid tribute, all three drums suddenly exploded with a powerful rhythm that poured out into the night and the storm. Obewole's mallet resounded against the skin of the large _iya ilu_, producing a deep, measured cadence--three strokes, then rest, repeated again and again hypnotically--almost as though he were knocking on the portals of the unseen. Next to him the men holding the two smaller drums interjected syncopated clicks between the _iya ilu's _throaty booms. The medley of tempos they blended together was driving, insistent. As the sound swelled in intensity, the men began to circle the drawing for Ogun, ponderously shuffling from one foot to the other in time with the beat. It was more than a walk, less than a dance. Atiba began to clang together two pieces of iron he had brought, their ring a call to Ogun. The men trudged past him, single file, the soles of their feet never leaving the earth. Using this ritual walk, they seemed to be reaching out for some mighty heart of nature, through the force of their collective strength. They had come tonight as individuals; now they were being melded into a single organic whole by the beat of the _iya ilu_, their spirits unified. Some of them nodded to Obewole as they passed, a homage to his mastery, but he no longer appeared to see them. Instead he gazed into the distance, his face a mask, and methodically pounded the taut goatskin with ever increasing intensity. "_Ogun cyuba bai ye baye tonu_ . . ." Suddenly a chant rose up through the dense air, led by the young warrior Derin, who had devoted his life to Ogun. His cropped hair emphasized the strong line of his cheeks and his long, powerful neck. As he moved, now raising one shoulder then the other in time with the drums, his body began to glisten with sweat in the humid night air. All the while, Atiba stood beside the mill, still keeping time with the pieces of iron. He nodded in silent approval as the men in the line began to revolve, their bare feet now slapping against the packed earth, arms working as though they held a bellows. This was the ritual call for Ogun, warrior and iron worker. As they whirled past the design on the floor, each man bent low, chanting, imploring Ogun to appear. While the sound soared around them, the dance went on and on, and the atmosphere of the mill house became tense with expectation. Suddenly Derin spun away, separating himself from the line, his eyes acquiring a faraway, vacant gaze. As he passed by the musicians, the drumming swelled perceptibly, and Serina sensed a presence rising up in the room, intense and fearsome. Without warning, the clanging of iron stopped and she felt a powerful hand seize hers. "Ogun is almost here." Atiba was pointing toward Derin, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Can you sense his spirit emerging? Soon he may try to mount Derin." She studied the dancers, puzzling. "What do you mean, 'mount' him?" "The Orisa can mount our mind and body, almost like a rider mounts a horse. Ogun wants to displace Derin's spirit and become the force that rules him. But Derin's self must first leave before Ogun can enter, since it's not possible to be both man and god at once. His own spirit is trying to resist, to ward off the god. Sometimes it can be terrifying to watch." He studied the men a few moments in silence. "Yes, Derin's body will be the one honored tonight. He's the youngest and strongest here; it's only natural that Ogun would choose him. Don't be surprised now by what you see. And Dara"--his voice grew stern--"you must not try to help him, no matter what may happen." At that instant the young warrior's left leg seemed to freeze to the ground, and he pitched forward, forfeiting his centering and balance. He began to tremble convulsively, his eyes terror-stricken and unfocused, his body reeling from a progression of unseen blows against the back of his neck. He was still trying to sustain the ritual cadence as he pitched backward against the mill. Now the drums grew louder, more forceful, and his entire body seemed to flinch with each stroke of Obewole's mallet. His eyes rolled back into his head, showing only a crescent of each pupil, while his arms flailed as though trying to push away some invisible net that had encircled his shoulders. He staggered across the floor, a long gash in his shoulder where the teeth of the mill had ripped the flesh, and began to emit barking cries, almost screams, as he struggled to regain his balance. "You've got to stop it!" She started pulling herself to her feet. But before she could rise, Atiba seized her wrist and silently forced her down. None of the other men appeared to take notice of Derin's convulsions. Several were, in fact, themselves now beginning to stumble and lose their balance. But they all continued the solemn dance, as though determined to resist the force wanting to seize their bodies. At that moment the measured booms of the large iya Hu drum switched to a rapid, syncopated beat, a knowing trick by Obewole intended to throw the dancers off their centering. The sudden shift in drumming caused Derin to lose the last of his control. He staggered toward the drummers, shouted something blindly, then stiffened and revolved to face Atiba. His eyes were vacant but his sweat-drenched body had as sumed a mystical calm. He stood silent for a moment, glared fiercely about the mill house, then reached for the long iron machete Atiba was holding out for him. "_Obi meye lori emo ofe _. . ." He was intoning in a deep, powerful voice, declaring he would now reveal who he was. "_Ogun_!" He abruptly brandished the machete about his head and with a leap landed astride the diagram Atiba had traced in the dirt. The other men hovered back to watch as he launched a violent dance, slashing the air with the blade while intoning a singsong chant in a voice that seemed to emanate from another world. The drums were silent now, as all present knelt to him, even those older and more senior. Derin the man was no longer present; his body belonged to the god, and his absent eyes burned with a fierceness and determination Serina had never before seen. She gripped Atiba's hand, feeling her fingers tremble. Now, more than ever, she was terrified. The pounding of rain on the roof seemed almost to beckon her out, into the night, away from all this. But then she began to understand that the men around her were no longer slaves, in the mill room of a plantation in the English Caribbees; they were Yoruba warriors, invoking the gods of their dark land. Now Derin was finishing the ritual chant that proclaimed him the earthly manifestation of Ogun. The words had scarcely died away when Atiba stepped forward and demanded he speak to the men, offer them guidance for the days ahead. When Derin merely stood staring at him with his distant eyes, Atiba grabbed him and shook him. Finally, above the sound of wind and rain, Derin began to shout a series of curt phrases. His voice came so rapidly, and with such unearthly force, Serina found she could not follow. "What is he saying?" She gripped Atiba's hand tighter. "Ogun demands we must right the wrongs that have been set upon us. That we must use our swords to regain our freedom and our pride. He declares tonight that his anger is fierce, like the burning sun that sucks dry the milk of the coconut, and he will stand with us in the name of vengeance. That victory will be ours, but only if we are willing to fight to the death, as worthy warriors." Atiba stopped to listen as Derin continued to intone in a deep chilling voice. When he had concluded his declaration, he abruptly turned and approached Serina. He stood before her for a moment, then reached out with his left hand and seized her shoulder, tearing her white shift. She gasped at the tingle in her arm, realizing his fingers were cold and hard as iron. His eyes seemed those of a being who saw beyond the visible, into some other world. She wanted to pull away, but his gaze held her transfixed. "Send this one back where she belongs, to the compounds of your wives. Yoruba warriors do not hold council with women. She . . . will lead you . . . to . . ." The voice seemed to be receding back into Derin's body now, to be calling from some faraway place. Suddenly he leaped backward, circled the machete about his head, and with a powerful stroke thrust it into the earth, buried halfway to the hilt. He stared down for a moment in confusion, as though incredulous at what he had just done, then tremulously touched the dark wooden handle. Finally he seized his face in his hands, staggered backward, and collapsed. Atiba sprang to catch him as he sprawled across the remains of the trampled palm fronds. Several other men came forward, their eyes anxious. "Ogun has honored us tonight with his presence." He looked about the dark room, and all the men nodded in silent agreement. At that moment a long trunk of lightning illuminated the open doorway, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the pole supporting the thatched roof. Serina felt a chill sweep against her forehead. "That is the voice of Shango. He too demands to be heard. We must continue." Atiba turned to Serina. "Even though it displeases Ogun, your presence here tonight is essential. You were once consecrated to Shango. Perhaps you were never told. But you are Yoruba. Your lineage is sacred to him." "How do you know?" She felt the chill in the room deepening. "Shango animates your spirit. As a _babalawo _I can tell. It must have been divined the day you were born and sanctified by a ceremony to Olorun, the high god. There are signs, but I must not reveal to you what they are." "No! I won't have any part of this. It's pagan, terrifying." She wrapped her arms about her, shivering from the cold. "I only came here to please you. I'll watch. But that's all." Atiba motioned to the drummers. "But Shango will not be denied. You have nothing to fear. Most of his fire tonight is being spent in the skies." The drums began again, their cadence subtly changed from before. The lightning flashed once more, closer now, as he urged her toward the dancers. "We must know the will of Shango, but we are all men of Ogun. Shango would never come and mount one of us. He will only come to you, his consecrated." As the line of men encircled her and pushed her forward, into the crowd of half-naked bodies sweating in the candlelight, Atiba's face disappeared in the tumult of heaving chests and arms. She tried to yell back to him, to tell him she would never comply, but her voice was lost in the drumming and the roar of the rain. She was moving now with the line of men. Before she realized what she was doing, she had caught the hem of her swaying white shift and begun to swing it from side to side in time with the booms of the _iya ilu_ drum. It was a dance figure she remembered from some lost age, a joyous time long ago. She would dance for her love of Atiba, but not for his gods. Now the rhythm of the drums grew more dizzying, as though pulling her forward. It was increasingly hard to think; only through the dance could she keep control, stay centered on her own self. Only by this arcing of her body, as the movement of her hips flowed into her swaying torso, could she . . . Suddenly she saw herself, in Pernambuco, being urged gently forward by her Yoruba mother as the slaves drummed in the cool evening air. It was Sunday, and all the _preto _had gathered to dance, the black women in ornate Portuguese frocks of bright primary colors and the men in tight- fitting trousers. The drums were sounding and the plantation air was scented by a spray of white blossoms that drifted down from the spreading tree. The senhor de engenho was there, the white master, clapping and leering and calling something to Dara about her_ mulata _daughter's new frock. He was watching her now, waiting. Soon, very soon, he would take her. Lightning flashed again, and she felt its warmth against her icy skin. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to stay in that world of faraway whose warmth beckoned. But now she felt her own will beginning to ebb. Something was happening. . . . "No! Please, no!" She forced her long fingernails into her palm, and the pain seemed to restore some of the awareness she had felt slipping from her. Desperately she tore herself away from the dance and seized the center post of the mill, gasping for air and digging her nails into the wood until she felt one snap. Then she pulled away the African kerchief and threw back her head, swirling her hair about her face till it caught in her mouth. All at once she was thirsty, hungry, yearning for a dark presence that hovered over her body like a lover. Again the blossoms of Pernambuco drifted down, tiny points of fire as they settled against her face, and she began to hum a simple Portuguese song she had known as a child. It was spring in Brazil, and as she looked up she saw the face of the old Yoruba _babalawo_. "Dara, come." He was reaching toward her, beckoning her away from the Portuguese master, saying something about Shango she did not understand, and the sight of his sad eyes and high black cheeks filled her with love. But now there was a youthfulness in his face, as though he were here and powerful and young. Her old _babalawo _had come back: there was the same glistening black skin, the same three face- marks cut down his cheek, the powerful eyes she had somehow forgotten over the years. She gasped as he pulled her back into the circle of dancers. He was Atiba. His clan-marks were Atiba's. And so was his voice . . . Lightning illuminated the doorway and its whiteness washed over her, bleaching away the mill, the moving bodies, the face of Atiba. As she stumbled back among the dancers, her mind seemed to be thinning, turning to pale mist, merging with the rain. ' _'Boguo yguoro ache semilenu Shango_ . . ." The men were moving beside her now, intoning their singsong chant. She suddenly recalled the long-forgotten Yoruba verses and wanted to join in, but the words floated away. She was no longer part of the men in the room; she was distant, observing from some other world. Instead of the sweating bodies, there was the fragrance of frangipani and the faces of _preto_ slaves on the Pernambuco plantation as they gathered around at the moment of her birth to praise her light skin. Dara's warm, nourishing breast was against her lips, and the world was bright and new. She gasped for breath, but the air was wet, oppressive. Its heaviness was descending over her, then her left leg seemed to catch in a vise, as though it belonged to the deep earth. She wrenched her body to look down, and felt a crack of thunder pound against her back. The world was drifting up through her, drowning her in white. . . . . . . She is floating, borne by the drums, while a weight has settled against her back, a stifling weariness that insists the dance must stop. Yet some power propels her on, swirls about her, forces her forward. She senses the touch of wet skin as she falls against one of the dancers, but no hands reach out to help. Only the drums keep her alive. But they too are fading, leaving her, as the world starts to move in slow motion. A white void has replaced her mind. Her breath comes in short bursts, her heart pounds, her hands and feet are like ice. She is ready now to leave, to surrender, to be taken. Then a voice comes, a voice only she can hear, whose Yoruba words say her mind can rest. That her body is no longer to struggle. She holds her eyes open, but she no longer sees. A powerful whiteness has settled against her forehead. . . . ' _'Okunrin t 'o lagbara_!" A hard voice cut through the room, silencing the drums. "_Shango_!" The Yoruba men fell forward to touch the feet of the tall mulata who towered over them, demanding worship. Her eyes glowed white, illuminating the darkness of the room; her arm stretched out toward Atiba as she called for her scepter. He hesitated a moment, as though stunned that she was no longer Dara, then rose to hand her a large stone that had been chipped into the form of a double-headed axe. He had fashioned it himself, in anticipation of just this moment. As he offered the sacred implement, her left hand shot out and seized his throat. She grabbed the axe head with her right hand and examined it critically. Then she roughly cast him aside, against the mill. While the men watched, she raised the stone axe above her head and began to speak. "_Opolopo ise I'o wa ti enikan ko le da se afi bi o ba ir oluranlowo. _. . ." The voice of Shango was telling them that the Yoruba must join with the other men of Africa if they would not all die as slaves. Otherwise they and their children and their children's children for twenty generations would be as cattle to the _branco_. Even so, he would not yet countenance the spilling of innocent blood. Not until Yoruba blood had been spilled. They must not kill those among the _branco _who had done them no hurt. Only those who would deny their manhood. Suddenly she turned and glared directly at Atiba. The voice grew even harsher. "Atiba, son of Balogun, _bi owo eni ko te eku ida a ki ibere iku ti o pa baba eni!" _It was the ancient call to arms of Ife: "No man who has not grasped his sword can avenge the death of his father." But Atiba sensed there was a deeper, more personal message. The voice had now become that of Balogun himself, clearly, unmistakably. He felt his heart surge with shame. Her last words were still ringing when a sphere of lightning slid down the centerpole of the roof and exploded against the iron mill. Rings of fire danced across the rollers and dense dark smoke billowed in the room. Atiba had already sprung to catch her as she slumped forward, sending her stone axe clattering across the packed floor. ' _'Olorun ayuba bai ye baye tonu . . ._" Through the smoke he quickly began to intone a solemn acknowledgement to the Yoruba high god. Then he lifted her into his arms and pressed his cheek against hers as he led the men out. She was only dimly aware of a whisper against her ear. "You are truly a woman of the Yoruba, and tonight you have brought us Shango's power. With him to help us, we will one day soon plant our yams where the branco's compounds stand." As they started down the pathway, single file, the lightning had gone. Now there was only the gentle spatter of Caribbean rain against their sweating faces as they merged with the night. Chapter Ten As the bell on the _Rainbowe _struck the beginning of the first watch, Edmond Calvert stood on the quarterdeck studying the thin cup of crescent moon that hung suspended in the west. In another hour it would be gone and the dense tropical dark would descend. The time had arrived to commence the operation. He reflected grimly on how it had come to this. The ultimate responsibility, he knew, must be laid at the door of a greedy Parliament. Before the monarchy was abolished, the American settlements had been the personal domain of the king, and they had suffered little interference from Commons. Scarce wonder Parliament's execution of Charles was received with so much trepidation and anger here--yesterday he'd heard that in Virginia the Assembly had just voted to hang anyone heard defending the recent "traitorous proceedings" in England. What these Americans feared, naturally enough, was that Parliament would move to try and take them over. They were right. And the richest prize of all was not Virginia, not Massachusetts, but the sugar island of Barbados. Why else had he been sent here first? How could Oliver Cromwell have so misjudged these colonists? He thought all they needed was intimidation, and expected the fleet to manage that handily. What he'd failed to understand was the strong streak of independence that had developed here over the years, especially in Barbados. Instead of acting sensibly, the islanders had met the fleet with a cannon barrage and a Declaration stating that they would fight to the death for their liberty. What was worse, they had steadfastly refused to budge. Even so, he had tried every means possible to negotiate a surrender. He'd started a propaganda campaign, sending ashore letters and posters warning that resistance was foolhardy, that they needed the protection of England. But Dalby Bedford's reply was to demand that the island be allowed to continue governing itself by its own elected Assembly, when everyone knew Parliament would never agree. Yet for a fortnight they had continued their fruitless exchange of letters, cajolery, threats-- neither side willing to relent. What else, he asked himself, was left to do now? Add to that, invasion fever was becoming rife in the fleet. This morning he had hung out the Flag of Council, summoning the captains of all the ships aboard the _Rainbowe _for a final parlay, and over a luncheon table groaning with meat and drink from the fourteen captured Dutch merchant fluyts, the men had done little else save brag of victory. Finally, his last hope of avoiding bloodshed gone, he had reluctantly issued orders. It had come to this--England and her most populous American colony were going to war. He then spent the afternoon watch on the quarterdeck, alone, pensively studying the flying fish that glided across the surface of the tranquil blue Caribbean. Hardest to repress was his own anguish at the prospect of sending English infantry against a settlement in the Americas. These New World venturers were not rebel Papist Irishmen, against whom Cromwell might well be justified in dispatching his army. They were fellow Protestants. As he turned and ordered the anchor weighed, he experienced yet another disquieting reflection--unless there was some weakness in the island he did not yet know, it could win. "Are we ready to issue muskets now, and bandoliers of powder and shot?" Vice Admiral James Powlett was coming up the companionway with a purposeful stride. He heard Powlett's question and decided to pass the decision on issuing of arms to the invasion commander, Colonel Richard Morris, now waiting beside him wearing breastplate and helmet. Deep wrinkles from fifty years of life were set in Morris' brow, and the descending dark did not entirely obscure the worry in his blue eyes or the occasional nervous twitch in his Dutch-style goatee. A seasoned army officer, he had chafed for days waiting to take his men ashore. On board the ships, he and his infantry were under naval command. On land, he would be in total charge. His impatience could not have been greater. During the forenoon watch he had personally visited each of the troop ships and picked some two hundred of the fittest infantry for the invasion. He had organized them into attack squadrons, appointed field commanders, and held a briefing for the officers. Then the men had been transferred in equal numbers to the Rainbowe, the Marston Moor, and the Gloucester, where the captains had immediately ordered them down to the already-crowded gun decks to await nightfall. "We'll issue no arms till it's closer to time." Morris squinted at Powlett through the waning moonlight. "I'll not have some recruit light a matchcord in the dark down there between decks and maybe set off a powder keg. Though I'd scarcely fault any man who did, considering the conditions you've placed my infantry under." "In truth, sir, I think we're all a trifle weary of hearing your complaints about how the navy has been required to garrison your men." Powlett scowled. "May I remind you that while you've seen fit to occupy yourself grumbling, the navy has arranged to replenish our water and provisions, courtesy of all the Butterboxes who were anchored in the bay. In fact, I only just this afternoon finished inventorying the last Dutch fluyt and securing her hatches." Powlett paused to watch as the _Rainbowe _began to come about, her bow turning north. She would lead the way along the coast, the other two warships following astern and steering by a single lantern hanging from her maintopmast. Their destination was the small bay off the settlement at Jamestown, up the coast from Carlisle Bay. "What this navy has done, sir," Morris' voice was rising, "is to seize and pilfer the merchantmen of a nation England has not declared war on." "We don't need Letters of Marque to clear our American settlements of these Dutchmen," Powlett continued. "They've grown so insolent and presumptuous they're not to be suffered more. If we don't put a stop to them, they'll soon make claim to all the Americas, so that no nation can trade here but themselves. Besides, it's thanks to these interloping Hollanders that we've now got fresh water and meat enough to last for weeks." "Aye, so I'm told, though my men have yet to see a sliver of this Dutch meat we hear about." "There's been time needed to inventory, sir. I've had the beef we took cut into quarter pieces and pickled and put aboard the provision ships. And the pork and mutton cut into half pieces and salted. We've got enough in hand now to sit and watch this island starve, if it comes to that." Morris chewed on his lip and thought bitterly of the noonday Council of War called aboard the _Rainbowe_. All the fleet captains had gorged themselves on fresh pork and fat mutton, washing it down with fine brandy and sack--all taken from the captain's larder of the Kostverloren. "The treatment of my men on this voyage has been nothing short of a crime." He continued angrily, "It cries to heaven, I swear it." The infantrymen had been confined to the hold for the entire trip, on dungeonlike gun decks illuminated by only a few dim candles. Since naval vessels required a far larger crew than merchant ships, owing to the men needed for the gun crews, there was actually less space for extra personnel than an ordinary merchantman would have afforded. A frigate the size of the Rainbowe already had two watches of approximately thirty men each, together with twenty-five or more specialists--carpenters, cooks, gunnery mates. How, Morris wondered, could they expect anything save sickness and misery on a ship when they took aboard an additional hundred or two hundred landsmen sure to be seasick for the whole of the voyage? Need anyone be surprised when his soldiers were soon lying in their own vomit, surrounded by sloshing buckets of excrement and too sick to make their way to the head up by the bowsprit, where the seamen squatted to relieve themselves. Scarce wonder more men died every day. "What's your latest estimate of their strength here on this side of the island?" Morris turned back to Powlett, trying to ignore the stench that wafted up out of the scuttles. "Assuming the intelligence you've been getting is worth anything." "I can do without your tone, sir," the vice admiral snapped. "We have it on authority that the rebels have managed to raise some six thousand foot and four hundred horse. But their militia's strung out the length of the coast. Any place we make a landing--unless it's bungled--we should have the advantage of surprise and numbers. All you have to do is storm the breastwork and spike their ordnance. It should be a passing easy night's work." "Nothing's easy. The trick'll be to land the men before they can alert the entire island." Morris turned back to Calvert. "I'll need flintlocks for the first wave, not matchlocks, if we're to have the benefit of surprise. And I've got a feeling we'll need every advantage we can muster." "We can manage that easily enough. I'd guess we've got nearly two hundred flintlocks. And about six hundred matchlocks. So I can issue every man you have a musket and pike, and a bandolier with twelve rounds of powder and shot. As well as six yards of matchcord for the matchlocks." "So what you're saying is, we've got mostly matchlocks?" Morris' voice was grim. "That's all their militia'll have, depend on it." That was doubtless true, Morris told himself. It would be an oldstyle war, but plenty deadly, for it all. From the time some two centuries earlier when the musket came into general use, the most common means for firing had been to ignite a small amount of powder in an external container, the "powder pan," which then directed a flash through a tiny hole in the side of the barrel, igniting the powder of the main charge. The powder pan of a matchlock was set off using a burning "matchcord," a powder-impregnated length of cotton twine kept lit in readiness for firing the gun. The technique differed very little from the way a cannon was fired. A smoldering end of the matchcord was attached to the hammer or "cock" of the gun, which shoved it into the powder pan whenever the trigger was pulled. An infantryman using a matchlock musket carried several yards of matchcord, prudently burning at both ends. Matchlocks were cheap and simple and the mainstay of regular infantry throughout Europe. There was, however, an improved type of firing mechanism recently come into use, called the flintlock, much preferred by sportsmen and anyone wealthy enough to afford it. The flintlock musket ignited the powder in the external pan by striking flint against steel when the trigger was pulled, and it was a concealable weapon which could also be used in rainy weather, since it did not require a burning cord. A flintlock cost three or four times as much as a matchlock and required almost constant maintenance by a skilled gunsmith. Morris suspected that whereas a few of the rich royalist exiles on Barbados might own flintlocks, most of the poorer planters probably had nothing more than cheap matchlocks. "We'd also be advised to off-load some provisions once we get ashore, in case we get pinned down." Morris looked coldly at Powlett. "I'm thinking a few quarters of that pickled beef you took from the Dutchmen wouldn't be amiss." "In time, sir. For now I can let you have twenty hogsheads of water, and I'll set ashore some salt pork from our regular stores." "What if I offered to trade all that for just a few kegs of brandy?" Morris appealed to Calvert. "I warrant the men'd sooner have it." Calvert glanced at Powlett, knowing the vice admiral had hinted at their noonday Council he preferred keeping all the Dutch brandy for the navy's men. "I'd say we can spare you a couple of kegs. It should be enough for a day or two's supply. But I'll not send it ashore till the breastwork is fully secured. . . ." Now the _Rainbowe _was entering the outer perimeter of the small bay at Jamestown, and the admiral excused himself to begin giving orders for reefing the mainsail. Through the dark they could see the outline of the torch-lit breastwork, a low brick fortress outlined against the palms. It's all but certain to be bristling with ordnance, Morris thought. And what if their militia's waiting for us somewhere in those damned trees? How many men will I lose before daylight? He inhaled the humid night air, then turned to Powlett. "We should start bringing the men up on deck. We've got to launch the longboats as soon as we drop anchor. Before the militia in the breastwork has time to summon reinforcements." Powlett nodded and passed the order to the quartermaster. "Then I'll unlock the fo'c'sle, so we can begin issuing muskets and bandoliers." The infantrymen emerged from the hold in companies, each led by an officer. The general mismatch of body armor, the "breast" and "back," bespoke what a ragtag army it was. Also, the helmets, or "pots," for those fortunate enough to have one, were a mixture of all the age had produced: some with flat brims, some that curled upward front and back. Some were too large for their wearers, others too small. Doublets too were a rainbow of colors, many with old-fashioned ruffs--taken from dead or captured royalists during the Civil War--and the rest plain and patched with rough country cloth. The night perfume of the tropical shore and the sea was obliterated by the stench of the emerging soldiers. Their faces were smeared with soot from the beams of the gun decks where they had been quartered, and they smelled strongly of sweat and the rankness of the hold. As they set grimly to work readying their weapons, a row of longboats along midships was unlashed and quietly lowered over the side. The two other warships, which had anchored astern of the _Rainbowe_, also began launching their invasion craft. Kegs of water, salt pork, and black powder were assembled on deck and readied to be landed after the first wave of the assault. The guns of the warships were already primed and run out, set to provide artillery support if necessary when the longboats neared the beach. But with luck the breastwork could be overrun and its gun emplacements seized before the militia had a chance to set and fire its ordnance. Once the Jamestown fortress was disabled, there would be a permanent breach in the island's defenses, a chink not easily repaired. The longboats had all been lowered now, and they bobbed in a line along the port side of the _Rainbowe_. Next, rope ladders were dropped and the infantrymen ordered to form ranks at the gunwales. Those assigned to lead the attack, all armed with flintlocks, were ordered over the side first. They dropped down the dangling ladders one by one, grumbling to mask their fear. The second wave, men with matchlocks, were being issued lighted matchcord, which they now stood coiling about their waists as they waited to disembark. Edmond Calvert watched silently from the quarterdeck, heartsick. With them went his last hope for negotiation. Now it was a state of war, England against her own settlements in the New World. "Katy, all I'm trying to say is you'll jeopardize your chances for a proper marriage if this goes on much more. I only hope you have some idea of what you're about." Dalby Bedford leaned back in his chair and studied the head of his cane, troubled by his conflicting emotions. The night sounds from the compound outside, crickets and whistling frogs, filtered in through the closed jalousies. He loved his daughter more than life itself. What's more, he had vowed long ago never to treat her as a child. And now . . . now that she no longer was a child, what to do? It was too late to dictate to her; the time for that was years ago. She was a woman now--she was no longer his little girl. She was no longer his. They'd always been best of friends. In the evenings they'd often meet in the forecourt of the compound, where, after she was old enough to understand such things, they would laugh over the latest gossip from London: what pompous Lord had been cuckolded, whose mistress had caused a scene at court. He had never thought to warn her that, as a woman, she might someday have desires of her own. But now, he was still her father, still worried over her, still wanted the right thing for her . . . and she was throwing away her best chance to secure a fine marriage--all for the company of a man whose rough manner he could not help but despise, however much he might respect his courage and talent. Hugh Winston was the antithesis of everything Dalby Bedford stood for: he was impulsive, contemptuous of law and order. How could Katy be attracted to him, be so imprudent? Had she learned nothing in all their years together? Dalby Bedford found himself puzzled, disturbed, and--yes, he had to admit it--a trifle jealous. "Katy, you know I've never tried to interfere in what you choose to do, but in truth I must tell you I'm troubled about this Winston. Your carousing about with a smuggler is hardly demeanor fitting our position here. I fear it's already been cause for talk." She set down the leather bridle she was mending and lifted her eyes, sensing his discomfort. "You'd suppose there were more important things for the island to talk about, especially now." "What happens to you is important to me; I should hope it's important to you as well, young woman." She straightened her skirt, and the edge of her crinoline petticoat glistened in the candlelight. "Hugh's a 'smuggler' when I'm out with him, but he's 'Captain Winston' when the militia needs a batch of raw ten-acre freeholders drilled in how to form ranks and prime a musket. I thought it was 'Captain Winston,' and not a 'smuggler' who's been working night and day helping keep trained gunners manning all the breastworks along the coast." "There's no arguing with you, Katy. I gave that up long ago. I'm just telling you to mind yourself." He swabbed his brow against the heat of early evening and rose to open the jalousies. A light breeze whispered through the room and fluttered the curtains. "I'll grant you he's been a help to us, for all his want of breeding. But what do you know about him? No man who lives the way he does can be thought a gentleman. You've been out riding with him half a dozen times, once all the way over to the breastwork at Oistins. In fact, you must have passed right by the Walrond plantation. It's not gone unnoticed, you can be sure." He settled back into his chair with a sigh and laid aside his cane. These last few days he had realized more than ever how much he depended on Katherine. "Anthony Walrond's a man of the world, but you can't push him too far. I'm just telling you to try and be discreet. In faith, my greater worry is that . . . that I'd sooner you were here with me more now. Between us, I think the fleet's going to try and invade soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow or the day after for certain. Talk has run its course. And if we've got to fight the English army on our own beaches, God help us." He could sense the unity on the island dissolving. Many of the smaller planters were growing fearful, and morale in the militia was visibly deteriorating. Half the men would just as soon have done with the constant alerts and dwindling supplies. There was scarcely any meat to be had now, and flour was increasingly being hoarded and rationed. Cassava bread was finding its way onto the tables of English planters who a fortnight earlier would have deemed it fit only for indentures-- while the indentures themselves, God knows, were being fed even less than usual. Without the steady delivery of provisions by the Dutch shippers, there probably would be starvation on Barbados inside a month. And with all the new Africans on the island, many militiamen were reluctant to leave their own homes unprotected. Little wonder so many of the smaller freeholders were openly talking about surrender. "Katy, I hate to ask this, but I do wish you'd stay here in the compound from now on. It's sure to be safer than riding about the island, no matter who you're with." "I thought I was of age. And therefore free to come and go as I wish." "Aye, that you are. You're twenty-three and twice as stubborn as your mother ever was. I just don't want to lose you too, the way I lost her." He looked at her, his eyes warm with concern. "Sometimes you seem so much like her. Only I think she truly loved Bermuda. Which I'll warrant you never really did." "It always seemed so tame." She knew how much he cherished those few years of happiness, before his long stretch of widowerhood in Barbados. "There's a wildness and a mystery about this island I never felt there." "Aye, you were of your own opinion, even then. But still I've always been regretful I agreed to take this post." He paused and his look darkened. "Especially considering what happened on the trip down. If only I'd taken your mother below decks when the firing began, she'd still be with us." "But she wanted to see the canoes." She picked up the bridle again. "I did too." "Well, you've been a comfort to a dull old man--no, don't try and deny it--more than any father has a right to expect, I suppose. You became a woman that day your mother died, no question of it." The sparkle returned to his eyes. "You'd never do anything I told you after that. May God curse you with a daughter of your own someday, Katy Bedford. Then you'll know what it's like." At that moment she wanted nothing so much as to slip her arms around his neck and tell him she would be his dutiful daughter forever. But she was no longer sure it was true. "Now admit it to me, Katy. This is no time for pretense. You're smitten with this Winston, aren't you? I can see the change in you." He watched as she busied herself with the bridle, trying not to look surprised. "I realize you're a woman now. I suppose I can understand how a man like him might appeal to you. And I guess there's nothing wrong with having a bit of a dalliance. God knows it's fashionable in London these days. But your Winston's a curious fellow, and there're doubtless a lot of things about him neither of us knows." He looked at her. "I'm sure your mother wouldn't have approved, any more than I do." "What does she have to do with this?" She knew he always invoked her mother's alleged old-fashioned views any time he couldn't think of a better argument. "Perhaps you're right. What you do now is on my head, not hers." He paused, not wanting to meet her eyes. "I'll grant you I might have sowed a few wild oats myself, when I was your age. And I can't say I've entirely regretted it. The fact is, as I get older that's one of the few things from my early years I remember at all. After a while, all other memories fade." His voice drifted away. "And now, the way things have come to pass, these days may be the last either of us has left to . . ." He raised his hand suddenly, as though to silence himself. From down the hill came the faint crack of a musket, then another and another. Three shots. They both waited, listening in the dim candlelight as the night sounds of crickets and frogs resumed once more. Finally he spoke. "Well, there it is." She rose and walked over behind his chair. She hesitated for a moment, then slipped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her cheek against his. There were so many things shed wanted to say to him over the years. Now suddenly it was almost too late, and still she couldn't find the words. She wanted to hold him now, but something still stopped her. Silently he touched her hand, then reached for his cane and stood. "I've ordered the carriage horses kept harnessed, in case." He was already halfway to the door. "I suppose I'd best go down to the Point first, just to be sure." "I want to go with you." She grabbed the bridle and ran after him. To let him get away, with so much still unsaid. . . . "No, you'll stay here, and for once that's an order." He took her hand and squeezed it. "I didn't tell you that five members of the Assembly have already called for surrender. Five out of twenty-two. I wonder how many more'll be ready to join them after tonight. If the Assembly votes to give in, Katy, you know it'll probably mean a trial in London for me." He kissed her on the cheek. "You'll have to look out for yourself then, and that'll be time aplenty to go chasing around the island in the dark." He drew back. "In the meantime, you'd best decide what you plan to do about this Winston fellow if that happens. Don't go losing your heart to him. He's a rogue who'll not do the right thing by you. Or any woman. Mark it. A father still can see a few things. He's already got one woman, that ship of his, and a seaman like that never has room for anyone else." She had to concede that, in truth, there was something to what he said. Up till now shed been managing to keep things in balance. But was she starting to let desire overrule that better judgment? For the hundredth time she warned herself to keep her head. "In the first place I don't wish to marry Hugh Winston. So it's just as well, isn't it, that he's got his ship. I see all too well what he is. I'm going to marry Anthony, and try and make the best of things." Her eyes hardened. "And secondly, we're not going to lose. You just have to delay the Assembly from voting a surrender. Hugh thinks the militia can drive them back." "Aye, we may hold out for a time. We've got trained gunners for every breastwork on the west and south coasts. But how long before some of the militia starts defecting? Then what can we do? With guns at our backs as well . . ." He exhaled pensively. "By the way, on the subject of Winston, I've noticed something a trifle incongruous about that man. He appears to know a lot more about cannon and fortifications than a seaman reasonably ought, probably as much or more even than Anthony Walrond. Has he ever said where he learned it?" "He never talks much about his past." She had found herself increasingly puzzled, and not a little infuriated, by Winston's secretiveness. Probably the only woman he ever confided in was Joan Fuller. "But sometimes I get the idea he may have learned a lot of what he knows from a Frenchman. Now and then he slips and uses a French name for something. I'd almost guess he helped a band of Frenchmen set up defenses somewhere in the Caribbean once." Dalby Bedford quietly sucked in his breath and tried to mask his dismay. The only "band of Frenchmen" to fit that description would be the little settlement of planters on the French side of St. Christopher, or the Cow-Killers on Tortuga. And Hugh Winston hardly looked like a planter. "Well, maybe it's just as well we don't know, Katy." He reached for his hat. "Now mind yourself, and make sure all the servants have muskets. Don't open the door to anyone." He pecked her quickly on the cheek. "Just be glad your friend Winston's frigate is aground. His 'other woman' is beached for now; try and keep her that way." Suddenly James, their stooping, white-haired Irish servant pushed through the doorway from the paneled entry foyer. The night breeze set the candles flickering. "Excellency!" He bowed nervously. "Pardon me, Excellency. There's a . . . gentleman to see you. He just rode into the compound all in a sweat. Claims he's come up from Mistress Fuller's place." The Assembly had voted to place Hugh Winston in command of the gunnery crews for the cannon emplacements at the four major breastworks along the coast: Lookout Point, Bridgetown, and Jamestown on the west; and Oistins Bay, on the south. In line with that responsibility, he had taken the front room of Joan's tavern and converted it into a meeting place for his gunnery officers. Several of Joan's rickety pine tables had been lashed together to form a desk; from that makeshift post he assigned the daily watches for each of the breastworks and monitored supplies. He also maintained close communication with the commanders of the field militia, both infantry and cavalry, who were drawn from the ranking planters and royalist officers in each parish. The militia itself had individual field command posts in each of the parish churches. The tavern was a comfortable rendezvous place for the men assigned to the guns, mostly seamen or former seamen who had gained their experience with heavy ordnance on a gun deck. Joan's familiar clapboard establishment enjoyed a commanding view of the harbor, and, unlike the parish churches, offered the finest food and grog remaining on the island. Joan presided over the accommodations, making sure necessary amenities were always at hand. She also kept a close eye on the loyalties of those who gathered. Tonight, however, the tavern was all but empty save for Winston, his quartermaster John Mewes and his master's mate Edwin Spurre, since all gunnery mates were on alert and at their posts at the various breastworks along the coast. The three of them were waiting for the signal, horses saddled and ready. The night was clear and humid, and a light breeze had just sprung up in the south. Winston leaned against the doorjamb, half in and half out, exhausted from a day-long ride reviewing gun emplacements along the shore. John Mewes was stationed outside on the porch, tankard in hand, keeping an eye on the sentry post atop Lookout Point. A system of lantern signals had been arranged to alert the Bridgetown command post to any change in the disposition of the fleet. "I've got a feelin' about tonight, Cap'n. Word from up on the Point at midday was they were holdin' a big meetin' aboard the _Rainbowe_. An' then she got underway and made about a league out to sea, along with the troop ships." Mewes took a nervous puff from the long stem of his white clay pipe. "I'd say it's odds they're planning a little surprise for us tonight. More'n likely somewhere along the west coast." "I've got the same feeling, John." He strolled across the narrow porch and stared up the hill, toward the sentry post stationed at the north end of the Point. "What was the latest signal?" "Same as usual. Five flashes on the quarter hour, meanin' no sightings." Mewes reached to tap his pipe against the heavy beam at the corner of the building. "I told tonight's watch to report anything that moved. But they'll be hard pressed to see much beyond the bay here." "Then you stay lively too. And try not to get too thirsty." Winston lifted a flintlock musket he had brought ashore from the _Defiance_ and tested the lock by the light of a candle lantern. Next he started polishing the barrel with a cloth he had borrowed from Joan. "I've got an idea they may try and land up at Jamestown, or maybe even farther north." "Then hadn't we best advise the militia commanders to double the security on the breastwork up that way?" "I spoke with Walrond, up at Jamestown, late this afternoon. We both figure that's the most likely location. He's already ordered up reinforcements for tonight." He drew a musket patch from his pocket and began to clean the sooty powder pan of the musket. "I didn't see any militia moving out from around here." "Nobody was to move till dark. We don't want the fleet's Puritan spies here to know we're ready. We'd lose our chance to catch their infantry in a noose." "Betwixt you an' me, I'd just as soon they never got around to landing infantry." Mewes shifted up his trousers. "A man could well get his balls shot off amidst all that musket fire." Winston pulled back the hammer of the musket, checking its tension. "Sometimes I wonder why the hell I keep you on, John. I'd wager most of Joan's girls have more spirit for a fight." "Aye, I'd sooner do my battlin' on a feather mattress, I'll own it. So the better question is why I stay on under your command." "Could be the fine caliber of men you're privileged to ship with." "Aye, that crew of gallows-bait are a rare species of gentility, as I'm a Christian." He started to laugh, then it died in his throat. "God's wounds, was that a signal up at the point?" "Looked to be." Winston flipped over the musket and examined the barrel. Then he selected a "charge holder"--a tiny metal flask--from among the twelve strung from the bandolier draped over his shoulder and began pouring its black powder into the muzzle. "Three longs and a short. That means a mast lantern putting in at Jamestown, right?" He fitted a patch over the ramrod and began to tamp in the powder. "Probably the _Rainbowe_. " "Aye, that's the signal." Mewes shoved the pipe into his pocket. "Want me to fetch the muskets?" "Tell Joan to give you those two leaning in the corner, at the back. I just got through priming them." Mewes vaulted the steps leading to the open tavern door. Seconds later, Joan appeared, holding the two flintlocks. "What is it, darlin'?" Her eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. "Are we finally due for some company?" "Right on schedule. The surf's been down all day. I figured they'd try it tonight." He finished tapping the ball down the muzzle of the musket, then placed the gun carefully on the step. "I guess that means I win our wager." "God's blood, I never thought it'd come to this. I was sure they'd never have the brass to try it." She passed him the muskets. "So we'll be going to war after all. I'd wager you another shilling you'll not hold them off, darlin', save there'd be no way to collect if I won." "All wagers are off now. This one's too hard to call." He handed one of the flintlocks to John Mewes, then cocked the other and aimed it into the dark night air. "Ready, John?" "Aye." Mewes cocked the musket and aimed it at the sliver of moon on the western horizon. "Tell me again. The signal for Jamestown's one shot, a count of five, another shot, a count of ten, and then the third?" "That's it." "Fire when ready." Winston squeezed the trigger and the powder pan flashed in the dark. Five seconds later Mewes discharged the second musket, then after ten seconds Winston fired the third, the one he had just loaded. "All right, John. Get the horses." "Aye." Mewes disappeared around the side of the tavern, headed for the makeshift stable located at the rear. Approximately a minute later the signal of three musket shots was repeated by militiamen in the field command post at Black Rock, on the road to Jamestown. Shortly after there again came a faint repetition of the pattern of shots, farther north. The prearranged signal was moving quickly up the coast. Mewes emerged from the dark leading two speckled mares. He patted one on the side of her face, muttered an endearment, then passed the reins to Winston. "I'm ready to ride." "All right, John, I'll see you at Jamestown. Put Spurre in charge here and go up to the governor's compound to tell Bedford. If he's not there, then try the Assembly Room. If they're meeting tonight, tell them to adjourn and get every man up to Jamestown, on the double. We may need them all." Mewes bellowed instructions through the doorway. Then he seized the saddle horn of the smaller horse and pulled himself up. "Aye. I'll be up there myself soon as I can manage, depend on it." Joan stood beside Winston, watching as he vanished into the dark. "Well now, that's most curious." She cocked back her head and her eyes snapped in the lantern light. "I'm surprised you'd not take the opportunity to go up to His Excellency's compound yourself. Seein' you're so well acquainted with the family these days." "All in the line of duty." "Duty my arse, you whoremaster. But you'll get what you deserve from that one, on my honor. She thinks she's royalty itself." She held the reins while he mounted. "Don't say I didn't give you a friendly warning." "I'm warned." He vaulted into the saddle as Edwin Spurre emerged through the doorway to assume lookout duty. "Edwin, prime and ready the muskets. In case they try to attack on two fronts. Do you know the signals?" "Aye, Cap'n." Joan handed up the reins. "Godspeed. You know if you let those Puritan hypocrites take over the island, there'll be a lot of wives thinkin' they can finally close me down. Just because they've got nothing better to fret about." "We'll win." He looked at Joan a moment and reached out to take her hand. Tonight he felt almost like he was defending the only home he had left. Now he had no ship, and Jamaica seemed farther away than ever. He leaned over in the saddle and kissed her. She ran her arms around his neck, then drew back and pinched his cheek. "Show those Roundhead bastards a thing or two about how to shoot, love. I'm counting on you, though damned if I know why." "Just keep the grog under lock and key till I get back." He waved lightly, then reined the mare toward the road north. As the horse clattered across the loose boards of the bridge, he glanced over his shoulder, up the hill toward the compound. What'll happen to Bedford and Katy, he wondered to himself, if we can't hold off the attack? It'll be the Tower and a trial for him, not a doubt. Probably charged with leading a rebellion. And what about her . . .? More riders were joining him now, militiamen who had been waiting for the signal. The distance to Jamestown was several miles, and they were all riding hard. None spoke, other than a simple greeting, each man thinking of the stakes. No one wanted to contemplate what would happen should they lose. We'll win, he kept telling himself as he spurred his mare. By God, we have to. Chapter Eleven Jeremy Walrond slid his hand down the long steel barrel of the flintlock, letting his fingers play across the Latin motto engraved along the top, _Ante ferit quam flamma micet_. "It strikes before the flash is seen." The piece had been given to him on his twelfth birthday by his brother Anthony, and it was superb--crafted in Holland, with a fine Flemish lock and carved ivory insets of hunting scenes in the stock. With it he had once, in a stroke of rare luck, brought down a partridge in flight. Now through a dismaying and improbable chain of events he must turn this work of artistry against a fellow human being. It was true he had been part of the royalist cause in the Civil War, a clerk helping direct the transport of supplies, but he had never been near enough to the lines to fire a musket. Or to have a musket fired at him. The thought of battle brought a moistness to his palms and a dull, hollow ache in his gut. While the men around him in the trench--all now under his command-- reinforced their courage with a large onion-flask of homemade kill- devil, he gazed over the newly mounded earth and out to sea, ashamed at his relief there was as yet no flash of lantern, no telltale red dots of burning matchcord. The only moving lights were the darting trails of fireflies, those strange night creatures that so terrified newcomers to the Caribbees. In a few more moments the last of the moon, now a thin lantern, would drop beneath the western horizon, causing the coast and the sea to be swallowed in blackness. After that happened, he told himself, he might see nothing more, hear nothing more, till the first musket ball slammed home. War, he meditated, was man's greatest folly. Excused in the name of abstractions like "liberty" and "country" and "dignity." But what dignity was there for those who died with a musket ball in their chest? No beast of the earth willfully killed its own kind. Only man, who then styled himself the noblest of God's creatures. He loosened his hot lace collar, hoping to catch some of the on-again, off-again breeze that had risen in the south and now swept the pungent smell of Bridgetown's harbor up along the coast. Aside from the rattle of militiamen's bandoliers and occasional bursts of gallows laughter, the only sounds were night noises--the clack of foraging land crabs, the chirps and whistles of crickets and toads, the distant batter of surf and spray against the sand. Inland, the green hills of Barbados towered in dark silence. He looked out to sea once more and realized the surf was beginning to rise, as wave after frothy wave chased up the crystalline sand of the shore, now bleached pale in the last waning moonlight. The ships were out there, he knew, waiting. He could almost feel their presence. Both the trench and the breastwork were back away from the shore--back where the sand merged with brown clay and the first groves of palms, heralds of the hardwood thickets farther upland. Through the palms he could barely discern the silhouettes of the gunners as they loitered alongside the heavy ordnance, holding lighted linstocks. Fifteen cannon were there tonight, ranging in gauge from nine to eighteen-pound shot, shielded on the sea side by a head-high masonry wall cut with battlements for the guns. Though the original Jamestown gun emplacement had been built two decades earlier, as a precaution against Spanish attack, that threat had faded over the years, and gradually the planters of Barbados had grown complacent. They had permitted the fort to slowly decay, its guns to clog with rust from the salt air. How ironic, he thought, that now an English attack, not Spanish, had finally occasioned its first repairs. Over the past fortnight the old cannon had been cleaned of rust and primed; and new Dutch guns, all brass, had been hauled up by oxcart from Carlisle Bay and set in place. Now six of these, small demi-culverin, had just been removed from the breastwork and hauled to safety inland at first word of the invasion. He heard the murmur of approaching voices and looked up to see two shadowy figures moving along the dirt parapet that protected the trench. One was tall and strode with a purposeful elegance; the other lumbered. "It'll be a cursed dark night once we've lost the moon, and that's when they're apt to start launching the longboats. Damn Winston if he's not in place by then. Are his men over where they're supposed to be?" The hard voice of Benjamin Briggs drifted down. The silhouette that was Anthony Walrond merely nodded silently in reply. Jeremy rose and began climbing up the parapet, his bandolier rattling. Anthony turned at the noise, recognized him, and motioned him forward. "Are your men ready?" "Yes, sir." Anthony studied him thoughtfully a moment. "Watch yourself tonight, lad." He paused, then looked away. "Do remember to take care." "That I will." Jeremy broke the silence between them. "But I'm not afraid, truly." He patted his bandolier for emphasis, causing the charge holders to clank one against the other. He knew he owed his assignment of the rank of ensign--which normally required holdings of at least fifteen acres--and the leadership of a squad solely to the influence of his older brother, who commanded the vital Jamestown defenses by unanimous consent of the Assembly. Jeremy's militiamen--eight in number--were all small freeholders with rusty matchlocks and no battle experience. He had been too ashamed to tell Anthony he didn't desire the honor of being an officer. It was time to prove he was a Walrond. "Jeremy, we all know fear, but we learn to rise above it. You'll make me proud tonight, I'll lay odds." He reached and adjusted the buckle of the shoulder strap holding Jeremy's sword. "Now have your men light their matchcord and ready the prime on their muskets." Jeremy gave his brother a stiff salute and passed the order into the trench. A burning taper was handed slowly down the line of men, and each touched it to the tip of his matchcord, then threaded the glowing fuse through the serpentine cock of his musket. He secretly rejoiced he had a new-style flintlock; at least there would be no lighted matchcord to betray his own whereabouts in the dark. He stood for a moment watching his men prepare, then glanced back at the squat outline of Benjamin Briggs. What, he wondered, was he doing here tonight? Briggs was gazing down at the parapet now, critically scuffing his boots against the soft earth. "This trench of yours will do damned little to protect these lads from cannon fire if somebody in the fleet takes a mind to shell the breastwork. I pray to God it was worth the time and trouble." A crew of indentures, as well as many of Winston's new men, had worked around-the-clock for three days digging the trench. The idea had come from Anthony Walrond. "I'm betting on an invasion, not an artillery duel." Anthony nodded toward Jeremy one last time, a light farewell, then turned back to Briggs. "An open shelling with their big ordnance would be foolhardy; right now it's too dark to try and fire on our emplacements. Add to that, we have word the commander in charge of the army is a Roundhead rogue named Dick Morris. I know him all too well. He doesn't believe in a lot of cannon fire, when a few men can achieve what he wants. He'll just try to land enough men to overrun and disable our guns." "Well and all, may Almighty God damn our luck that it's come down to this. The last thing we need is war with England. But if it's fight we must, then I say give them our all. And don't let them catch us short." Briggs gazed past Jeremy, down the trench. "Do all these men have enough matchrope, powder, and shot?" Anthony felt himself nearing his limit of tolerance for civilians. All the planter had found to do since arriving was denigrate their readiness. "We've managed to get bandoliers, and 'the twelve apostles,' for all the men"--he deliberately used the irreverent battlefield nickname for the dozen charge-holders of musket powder on a standard bandolier--"and there's plenty of matchcord, with what we got from the Dutchmen before they were seized." He tightened his eye-patch and surveyed the line of ragged planters and indentures marshalled down the trench, trying to envision them under attack. The picture was discouraging, at the very least. How many here have ever taken musket fire, he wondered. This bunker will likely be overrun by the first wave of Morris' infantry. God curse Cromwell for sending him. He's tenacious as an English bulldog. And crafty as a fox. He'll land the pick of his troops, and the minute they open fire, it's odds this line of farmers will panic and run for those green hills. We've got superiority of numbers, but it doesn't mean a thing. What we need, and don't have, is nerve, experience, and most of all, the will to fight. I'll wager not one man in ten here tonight has all three. "I'd like to know, sir, what's your true opinion of the plan that's been worked out." Briggs turned to Walrond, hating the man's arrogance and his royalist politics, yet respecting his military experience. He had led a royalist attack at the battle of Marsten Moor that was still remembered as one of the most daring maneuvers of the Civil War. "Do you think we can catch their landing force in a bind, the way we're hoping?" Anthony moved away from the edge of the trench. "Taken all for all, it's about the best we can do. If it succeeds, well and good, but if it fails, we're apt to end up . . ." Jeremy tried to hear the rest, but Anthony's voice faded into the dark as he and Briggs moved on down the parapet. The night was closing in again. Having drained their flask of kill- devil, the militiamen were grumbling nervously as they waited in a line down the trench, backs to the newly turned earth. Again the sounds of the dark swelled up around them--the chirps and whistles, the monotonous pendulum of surf in the distance. War. Was it mainly waiting? Maybe there would be no landing. How preposterous all this would seem then. Tomorrow he would wake in his featherbed, dreaming he was back in England, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Sense would prevail. The fleet would hoist sail. . . . A volley of musket fire exploded from the direction of the breastwork. Shouts. Then clustered points of light, the tips of burning matchcord on the infantry's muskets, suddenly appeared along the shore. The first attackers had crept up behind the cannon and fired into the gunners with flintlocks, so there would be no smoldering ignition match on their muskets to betray them. Those in the second wave had somehow masked their lighted matchcord until their longboats pulled into the surf. Now, after the surprise attack on the gun emplacement, they were splashing ashore, holding their muskets high. Jeremy watched as the flickering red dots spread out along the shore in disciplined rows. For a moment he had the impression Jamestown was being attacked by strings of fireflies that had emerged from the deep Caribbean sea. "Prepare to fire." He heard a voice giving the order, and was vaguely astonished to realize it was his own. The trench sounded with the clicks of powder pans being opened and hammers being readied. "Take aim." That was the phrase; he had started practicing it five days before, when he was assigned the command. But now, what next? Aim where? The fireflies were inching up the shore in deadly rows. There looked to be hundreds. They would spew lead shot the moment the militia's trench was revealed. He knew that the order to fire the first round must come from Anthony. Why was he waiting? The Roundhead infantry must be no more than fifty yards down the shore. He felt his palm grow moist against the ivory of the stock, and for a moment he thought he smelled an acrid stench of fear down the trench. More muskets blazed from the rear of the brick fortress, followed by screams and shouts of surrender. In the jumble of musket fire and lanterns he could tell that the Jamestown breastwork had been circled and seized: its gunners overwhelmed, its cannon still directed impotently out toward the dark sea. Only two culverin had been fired. He watched heartsick as the invading infantrymen, breastplates shining in the lantern light, swarmed over the guns. The militia manning the cannons had been sacrificed. Deliberately. To draw in the rest of the invading force. He felt his anger welling up. In war the men who actually fought counted for nothing. Where was the rest of the militia? Were they waiting at the right perimeter, as they were supposed to be? He knew that the plan all along had been to let the guns be seized. But now that it had happened, he felt a demoralizing pang of loss and defeat. Why should the gunners be exposed to a musket attack? Surely there was some other way. . . . "Give fire!" He heard Anthony's command and felt his heart jump. The infantry was practically in pistol range. This was going to be near to murder. The trigger felt cold against his finger as he sighted into the dark, directly toward one of the approaching tips of fire. The gun flashed and kicked upward. The parapet was suddenly bathed in light as the long line of muskets around him discharged. He gasped for breath as the air in the trench turned to smoke--burning charcoal and saltpeter. The points of light danced in chaos, and then he heard screams. The man next to him, a grizzled, frightened freeholder, had clambered up the loose dirt of the parapet to gain a better view of the fighting at the breastwork. Jeremy realized that this man, too, had never witnessed a battle before. Then came a row of flashes from where the red dots had been, like the long string of exploding rockets fired over the Thames on St. George's Day. The freeholder beside him suddenly groaned and pitched backward, his smoking matchlock plowing into the soft dirt of the parapet as he sprawled downward into the trench. Then another man, farther down, screamed and doubled over his gun. "Half-cock your muskets, disengage your match," Jeremy heard himself shouting. "Prepare to recharge." Anthony had coached him that one of the primary duties of a field officer was to call out orders for priming and loading, since men in battle often forgot crucial steps. With a live matchcord attached to the hammer, it was all too easy to set off a musket while you were ramming in the charge. "Prime your pan." He tried to bellow above the din as he began pouring priming powder from a flask on his bandolier into the flintlock's powder pan. "Close your pan. Prepare to scour." As he and the men quickly cleaned the barrels of their muskets, then began to ram in more powder and shot, he kept glancing toward the approaching infantry. They too had paused to reload. He could see the outlines of the men now, and hear the shouts of officers. Which men were officers? At the end of one row of infantrymen stood a tall man in a silver helmet who seemed to be issuing the commands for reloading. He must be one, Jeremy realized. He's faster at reloading than the others. He's almost ready. That man, tall and comely, would make a passing good companion to share a hunt, afield and stalking grouse on a dew-laden morning. If we were both back in England now . . . Except . . . he's here to kill me. "You!" He shouted a challenge as he climbed up the parapet, readying his flintlock. There were shouts from the militiamen behind him, warning him to come down, but he did not hear, did not want to hear. The officer in the silver helmet looked up and spotted the outline of the brash youth standing atop the parapet, brandishing a musket. He knew. Jeremy watched as the man drew up his musket and took aim. He waited a moment in fascination, savoring what it was like to face death, then drew up his own flintlock and sighted the man's chest down the barrel. There was a flash of light and a whistle past his ear, the sound of a hurried horsefly. Then he squeezed the trigger. The Roundhead officer opened his mouth noiselessly and seemed to wilt backward. He fumbled for his musket as it clattered against a jagged lump of coral beside him, then sprawled onto the sand, still as death, his helmet circling in drunken arcs down the slope toward the surf. "Sir, mind you take cover!" In the flush sweeping over him, he scarcely felt the hands tugging at his boots. He was still gripping his flintlock, knuckles white, as the other militiamen dragged him back into the trench. He lay panting, at once dazed and exhilarated, astonished at the sensations of his own mind and body. The most curious thing of all was his marvelous new awareness of being alive; he was adrift in a new realm of the spirit, untroubled by the cacophony of musket discharges from all sides. "We're turnin' the whoresons back." There were more shouts now, even some cheers. Finally the din of battle cut through his reverie. "Prepare to reload." He was shouting again, almost more to himself than to the others, trying to be heard above the crack of musket fire that sounded down the length of the shoreline. Everywhere there were flashes, yells, screams. The air in the trench was rancid and opaque with black smoke. As he began reloading his musket he suddenly felt a new closeness, almost a mystical union, with the ragged planters around him. They were a fraternity of men, standing together, defending their land. Why had Anthony never told him that war could be like this? Could teach you brotherhood as well as hate? He was priming his powder pan again, trying to control the shake of his hands as he tilted the powder flask, when he looked up to see that more red tips were emerging from the darkness of the sea. Another wave of Roundhead infantry had landed in longboats. There was no longer any purpose in calling out a loading sequence. Some men were priming now, some ramming in powder and shot, some threading their matchcord into the hammer, some firing again. All the discipline he had been taught so carefully by Anthony was irrelevant. Most frightening of all, while the first wave of infantry had dropped back to reload, a fresh line of musketmen was advancing toward the parapet, guns primed and ready. "Fire and fall back. In orderly fashion." It was the voice of Anthony. The call to abandon the trench meant that all the Roundhead infantry had landed. Now they were to be drawn inland with a feigned retreat. The plan worked out was to resist strongly until all the infantry were ashore, to damage them as much as possible using the protection of the parapet, and then to fall back into the trees, luring them away from their longboats. When their lines were thinned, Hugh Winston would lead a cavalry charge that would drive a wedge along the shore, between the infantry and the sea, cutting off their escape. Next the longboats would be driven off, and the invading infantry slowly surrounded. They would be harassed by irregular fire and, with luck, soon lose heart. Cut off from their escape route, the demoralized invaders would have no choice but to surrender. Then, so the strategy went, Commander Morris and the admiral of the fleet would seek to negotiate. Jeremy fired blindly into the dark, then reached down for his pike. As he touched it, his eyes met those of the dying freeholder lying beside him. Blood now streamed from a gash in the man's tattered jerkin, while a red rivulet flowed in pulses from the corner of his mouth. The sight flooded him with anger. "No!" He heard himself yelling as he groped down his bandolier for another charge-holder. "No retreat." He turned to the startled men around him. "Reload. I say no retreat!" "But that's the orders, Yor Worship." A bearded militiaman had already begun to scramble up the back side of the trench. "Devil take the orders. Look." He seized the militiaman's jerkin and yanked him back, then pointed to the dying freeholder at their feet. "Aye, that's Roland Jenkins, may God rest his soul. I'm like to be the one tellin' his wife." The freeholder gave a quick glance. "But there's nothin' to be done, Yor Worship. Orders are to retreat." "And I say damn the orders." He was yelling to all the men now. "There are men here, wounded and dying. I'm staying with them. What kind of soldiers are we, to leave these men to die? It's wrong. There're higher orders to be obeyed. I say no." "An' we'll all end up like this poor sod, Yor Worship. There's no helpin' a man who's gone to meet his God." The man threw his musket onto the fresh dirt at the bottom of the trench and turned to begin clambering to safety. "For my own part, I can do just as well not greetin' the Almighty for a few years more." Jeremy seized his pike and marched down the trench. "I'll gut any man who tries to run. I'm in command here and I say we stand and fight. Now reload." The men stared at him in disbelief. "Do it, I say." He brandished the pike once more for emphasis, then flung it down and seized a charge-holder on his bandolier. Without so much as a glance at the other men, he began pouring the grainy black powder into the barrel of his musket. The world was suddenly a white, deafening roar. Later he remembered mainly the flash, how as the smoke seared his eyes he recalled his own negligence, that he had forgotten to scour the barrel. It was a fool's mistake, a child's mistake. He was still wiping his eyes, seared and powder-burned, when he felt the musket being ripped from his hands. As he groped to seize it back, rough hands shoved him sprawling against the soft dirt of the trench. His face plowed into the earth, which still smelled fresh, musky and ripe, full of budding life. "We've got another one, sor." A brash voice sounded near his ear. "A right coxcomb, this rebel." "Damn you." Jeremy struck out, only half aware of the cluster of infantrymen surrounding him. "Just hold yourself, lad." There were shouts as several of the wounded militiamen were disarmed. He tried to struggle, but more hands brusquely wrestled him down. "This one's not taken any shot. He's lively as a colt. Let's have some of that rope." He felt his arms being pulled behind him and a rough cord lashed around his wrists. There were sounds of a brief conference, then a voice came, kindly, almost at his ear. "This is a first-class fowling piece you're carrying. I'll wager you've brought down many a plump woodcock with it, haven't you lad?" A pause, then again the gentle voice. "What's your name, son?" "Damned to you. What's your name?" There was a sickening hollowness in his gut again. The fear, and now hatred--for them, and for himself. "It's better, for the time, if I ask the questions and you answer them." The voice emanated from a man wearing a silver helmet and sporting a short goatee. "Why didn't you run, like the rest of the rebels?" He laughed lightly as he moved closer. Jeremy felt a palm cup beneath his chin and felt his head being twisted upward. "By my word, I think your musket misfired. Your face is black as a Moor's. I'll warrant you'd have run too, if you could have seen the way. Could it be you're naught but a coward too, lad, like all the rest?" The speaker turned to a young, blue-eyed man standing nearby. "Well, sir, who'd have reckoned it'd be this easy? You can tell Admiral Calvert this island's as good as his for the taking. This militia of theirs is nothing but a batch of scared planters, who scatter like rabbits the minute they hear a gunshot. And a few young gallants like this one, who scarcely know how to prime a musket. There's no reason to fall back and hold this position. We'd as well just go on after them, chase them back to Bridgetown, and have done with it." Jeremy felt a flush of victory. They had fallen into the trap. They thought Barbados wouldn't fight! In minutes they'd be surrounded by the militia and begging to surrender. As soon as the counterattack began, he would . . . "I think we'd best take this one back to the ship, to find out who he is and if he knows anything." It was the man standing next to the goateed commander. "It's a damned bother to have prisoners to feed, but I'll warrant this engagement's got three days at most to go before they all throw down their arms and sue for peace." "Damn your smug eyes." Jeremy reached down and seized his pike, which had been lying unnoticed against the side of the trench. He turned and faced the commander. "You'll never even get back to your ship. Men died here tonight and they didn't die in vain, by all that's holy." "What say, lad? Pray, who's to stop us?" The commander glanced at the pike, seeming to ignore it. He waved back several infantrymen who had quickly leveled their muskets at Jeremy. "Your bold militia here has taken to its heels, one and all. A bloody lot of royalist cowards." "There're braver men on Barbados than you know. You'll not take me, or any prisoners, back to the ship. You'll see Bridgetown soon enough, all right, at the point of a gun." "Perhaps that's so, lad, but not at the point of a pike. Now put it away. This little engagement's over." The man with the goatee was studying him with admiration. "You're a brave one, lad. Too brave, by my life, or too foolish. . . ." "You don't suppose there's something behind this lad's bluster." The other man turned to the commander. "Could it be their militia might've run on purpose? To thin out our lines for a counterattack?" The shouting had died down now, as strings of captured militiamen were being assembled and placed under guard. Some were joking with their captors, clearly relieved to be out of the battle. Jeremy suspected several had deliberately surrendered--small freeholders who didn't care a damn whether Cromwell's fleet took the island or not. As he watched them with contempt, he felt ashamed to be one of them. Suddenly the horror of it all swept over him and he flung down the pike in disgust. "Now that's a good lad." The commander nodded, then turned to the other man. "Vice Admiral Powlett, for once you may be right. In truth, I was beginning to wonder the same thing. This could all have been too easy by half." "With your permission, sor, I'll put the young gallant here in with the rest of the rebels." One of the infantrymen had seized Jeremy's arms. "No, leave him here a minute." The commander was pointing toward Jeremy. "The lad's no planter. He doubtless knows more of what's going on than these others do. Something he said just now troubles me." "Should I bring up the men and start to move in, sir?" A captain of the infantry appeared out of the smoky haze that now enveloped the shoreline. "Hold a while and keep your lines together. It's too quiet." Jeremy looked up and saw the goatee next to his face. "Now tell me, lad. There's been enough killing here for one night, as I'm a Christian. Is there going to have to be more? If you don't tell me, it'll be on your head, I swear it." "This night is on your head, sir, and the Roundhead rebels who've stolen the Crown of England. And now would try to steal Barbados too." The man waved the words aside. "Lad, I'm too old for that. Let your royalist rhetoric lie dead, where it deserves to be. My name is Morris, and if you know anything, you'll know I've seen my time fighting your royalists in the damned Civil War. But that's over, thank God, and I have no wish to start it up again. Now give me your name." "My name is for men I respect." "A sprightly answer, lad, on my honor. There's spark about you." "The name on this musket looks to be Walrond, sor, if I make it out right." One of the infantrymen was handing the flintlock to Morris. "Walrond?" Morris reached for the gun and examined it closely, running his hand along the stock and studying the name etched on the lock. "A fine royalist name. By chance any kin to Sir Anthony Walrond?" "My brother, and he's . . ." "Your brother! You don't mean it." Morris' goatee twitched with surprise as he moved next to Jeremy and studied his face. "God is my witness, it's scarcely a name you need blush to give out. England never bred a braver, finer soldier, royalist or no. Is he your commander here tonight? You couldn't have one better." "I have never heard my brother speak well of you, sir." "Anthony Walrond? Speak well of a man who'd rid England of his precious king?" Morris laughed. "He'd sooner have God strike him dead. He's never had a good word to say for a Puritan in his life. But he's a worthy gentleman, for it all, and an honorable soldier in the field." He turned to an officer standing nearby. "Essex, regroup the men. I think we'd best just hold this breastwork for now. It could well be Anthony Walrond's in command of this militia. If he is, you can wager he'd not countenance a retreat unless he planned to counterattack. I know his modus operandi. And his pride." "Aye sir. As you will." The captain turned and shouted, "Men, fall back and regroup! Form lines at the breastwork and reload." "Now if you like. Master Walrond, I still can order all these men to march off into the dark and let your militia ambush and kill half of them--likely losing a hundred of their own in the trade. Would you really have me do it? Is this damned little island worth that much blood, over and above what's already been spilt here tonight?" Jeremy gazed down at the line of dead militiamen, bodies torn by musket balls. Beyond them the Roundhead infantry was collecting its own dead, among them the man he himself had killed. Now it all seemed so pointless. A blaze of musket fire flared from a position just north of the breastwork, and a phalanx of whooping and yelling militiamen opened a charge down the north side of the beach. Jeremy watched Morris' eyes click. The kindly man was suddenly gone. With an oath, he yelled for the prisoners to be hurried to the longboats, and the devil take the wounded. The infantry at the breastwork was returning the fire of the attacking militia, but they were now badly outnumbered. Jeremy made out what could have been the tall form of Anthony, wielding a musket as he urged the militia forward. Then he was passed by a wall of men on horseback. The cavalry. The lead horse, a bay gelding, was ridden by a tall man holding a pistol in each hand. The infantry holding the breastwork began retreating down the south steps, on the side opposite the attackers. Jeremy could make out Morris now, ordering his men to make for the longboats. "Get along with you, rebel." A pike punched him in the back and he was shoved in with the other prisoners. Now they were being hurried, stumbling and confused, in the direction of the water. Part of the Barbados militia had already swarmed over the abandoned breastwork, while others were riding along the shore, muskets blazing, hurrying to seal off the escape route to the longboats. They intercepted the retreating infantry midway down the beach, and the gunfire gave way to the sound of steel against steel, as empty muskets were discarded in favor of pikes and swords. Jeremy felt the warm surf splash his legs, and he looked up to see the outline of the waiting boats. He and the rest of the prisoners were on the far south side of the breastwork, away from the fighting, forgotten now. He was a prisoner of war. Directly ahead, two longboats were being towed in through the surf-- wide, hulking forms in the dim light, with sails furled and rows of oarsmen midships. As he watched them approach, he suddenly remembered his lost flintlock, a gift from Anthony, and the thought of its loss completed his mortification. "Get in or be damned to you." Several infantrymen were splashing through the surf behind him now, half-pikes raised, urging on malingerers with the blades. Jeremy felt the hard gunwale of the longboat slam against his shoulder, then hands reaching down for him and grabbing his arms. He was yanked up, wet and shivering in the freshening wind, then shoved sprawling onto the boards. "One move, any of you, and there'll be a pike in your guts." An infantryman began tying the prisoners' hands. As Jeremy felt the rough cords against his wrists, he looked up and glanced over the side. The retreating infantry had drawn itself into a protective circle, knee-deep in the surf, yelling for its longboats to be brought in closer. At the perimeter of the circle two scrawny soldiers struggled to keep their footing in the pounding surf. They both seemed weak, almost staggering, and when a large wave slammed against their backs, they toppled headlong into the spray. The Barbados militiamen were there, pulling them up and dragging them back through the surf to the beach. So, there'll be prisoners on both sides, he realized with relief. Now there'll be hostages onshore too. The battle seemed to be thinning now. No one wanted to fight waist deep in the dark churning sea. The Barbados militiamen were slowing in their chase, turning back to congratulate themselves that the invasion had been repelled. Finally, as the longboats rowed closer and the infantrymen began pulling themselves aboard, the militia halted, content to end the rout by hurling curses above the roar of the surf. "At least we spiked most of the cannon, and damn the rebels." Two officers were talking in the bow of the boat. Jeremy realized that both sides were planning to claim victory. Were there any wars ever "lost," he wondered. "Though we've bloody little else to show for a night's work," an oarsman in a dark woolen cap mumbled under his breath, "save this fine new collection of bellies to fill." The man suddenly reached and ripped off a piece of Jeremy's lace collar. "This coxcomb'll learn soon enough what 'tis like to live on salt pork and slimy water, same as the rest of us." He flung the lace back in Jeremy's direction. "No fancy meat pies and brandied puddings for you, lad. A seaman's fare will soon take the fat out of those cheeks. I'll warrant it'll do you good, young rebel." Ahead, the proud bow of the Rainbowe loomed above them in the dark, lanterns dangling from its masts. Seamen in the longboat tossed a grapple over the bulwark of the mother ship and then a rope ladder was dropped. Jeremy felt his hands being untied. Next he was urged up the ladder, shoved onto the deck, and immediately surrounded by jeering seamen, shirtless and wearing black stocking caps. "This is the one, sir." Powlett was standing over him pointing. Next to him stood Admiral Edmond Calvert. "I certainly can see he's a man of breeding, just as you said." Calvert studied Jeremy's ornate doublet in the flickering lantern light. "Aye." Powlett's voice suddenly rose. "'Twould seem he's the brother of Sir Anthony Walrond. I say we strip him and put him to work carrying slops out of the gun deck, as an example to all royalists." "Not for a minute, sir. Not so long as I'm in command of this fleet." Calvert seemed to bellow at Powlett, almost too loudly. A seaman was roughly yanking Jeremy to his feet, and Calvert turned on him. "You, there. Release that young gentleman, unless you'd like a timely taste of the cat on your back." He then approached and bowed ceremoniously. "Admiral Edmond Calvert, sir, your most obedient servant." Jeremy stared in confusion and disbelief as the admiral continued, "Walrond, is it not?" "Jeremy Walrond, and . . ." "I'm honored." He turned and signaled to his quartermaster. "Have brandy sent to my cabin. Perhaps Master Jeremy Walrond would care to share a cup with us." The seamen parted, doffing their caps to the admiral as he escorted Jeremy up the companionway toward the Great Cabin. "I can scarcely tell you, Master Walrond, how grateful I am to have the privilege of speaking face to face with a man of breeding from this island." He reached to steady Jeremy as he lost his footing in a roll of the ship. Then he smiled and gestured him ahead, down the lantern-lit walkway toward the stern. "First thing, we'll try and locate some dry breeches for you and a brandy to drive off the chill." He was still smiling as he shoved open a heavy wooden door. The Great Cabin was empty save for Colonel Richard Morris, now seated at the center table and rubbing the dirt off Jeremy's flintlock musket. Morris laid it carefully across the table in front of him when he saw them enter. Calvert smiled toward him, then continued, "I understand, Master Walrond, you've already made the acquaintance of our infantry commander." Morris rose and nodded as Calvert gestured Jeremy toward an ornately carved oak chair. "After we've all made ourselves comfortable, Master Walrond, I hope you and I and Captain Morris here can become better acquainted. We've got much to talk over tonight." He flashed a quick look at Morris as he smiled. "Mind you, strictly as gentlemen." Chapter Twelve Katherine was relieved when she finally spotted him standing among the gunners, his face and leather jerkin covered in a dark veneer of grime. If anyone would know the truth behind the rumor spreading over the island, that Jeremy Walrond had been killed, surely Hugh would. She watched for a time, collecting her composure after the ride up from Bridgetown, then tied her mare to the trunk of a bullet-scarred palm and began working her way down the sandy slope toward the breastwork. The mid-afternoon sun seared the Jamestown emplacement with the full heat of the day, and most of the gunners and militiamen were now shirtless and complaining about the need for rest. As she neared the stone steps leading up to the guns, the air rang with the sounds of hammering, iron against iron, and she realized Winston and the men were still working to extract the spikes from the touch holes of the large English culverin. He looked out to study the three English warships offshore, barely visible through the smoke that mantled the bay, then turned to Thomas Canninge, his master gunner. "I think we've still got range, Tom. Try another round as soon as you're set and see if you can't hole them one last time." Canninge and his gunners were struggling to set one of the Dutch demi-culverin, hammering a wooden wedge out from under the breech in order to elevate the muzzle. "Aye, looks like they've started coming about, but I think we might still give the whoresons one more taste." All the large cannon in the breastwork had been disabled by the invading Roundheads; their infantry had overrun the guns long enough to drive a large iron nail deep into each gun's touch hole, the small opening in the breech through which the powder was ignited. The facility would have been defenseless had not six of the Dutch demi- culverin been hauled out of the fort and hidden in a palm grove up the hill just prior to the attack. As soon as the invasion was repelled and the breastwork cleared, Winston had summoned teams of horses to bring the small Dutch cannon back. His gunners had opened fire on the fleet at the first light of dawn, catching the three English frigates which were still anchored within range and preparing for a long, leisurely shelling of the Jamestown settlement. An artillery duel commenced as the warships immediately returned the fire, but when Winston's gunners honed their targeting, they had prudently hoisted anchor and retired to the edge of range. Now, while the militiamen worked with hammers and drills to finish removing the spikes from the large culverin, the battle had become mostly noise and smoke. "Katy, God's life!" He finally noticed her as she emerged at the top of the steps. His startled look quickly melted into a smile. "This is a surprise." "Hugh, I came to find out . . ." "Everything's fine. We've got two of the spiked guns almost cleared, and if we can keep fire cover with these Dutch demi's, we should have all of them back in operation by nightfall." He walked over to where she stood. "So move on back out of range. It'll not be much longer. I think they've decided to give up on the shelling. Tom's already holed the _Rainbowe _twice with these little nine-pounders. Probably didn't do much harm, but at least the Roundheads know we're here." He glanced up as a puff of smoke rose from the gun deck of the warship nearest the shore, the _Marsten Moor_. "_Round of fire!"_ Before he finished the warning, the men had already dropped their hammers and were plunging behind a pile of sandbags. Winston's hard grip sent her sprawling with him behind the mound of earth-brown sacks. He rolled across her, then covered her face with his sweaty jerkin. "This is how we brave fighting men stay alive . . ." An eighteen-pound shot slammed against the base of the breastwork, shaking the brick foundation beneath them. After a few anxious moments, the men clambered nervously over the bags to resume work. She was still brushing the dirt from her riding habit when Winston suddenly whirled on her, his eyes fierce. "Now you listen to me, Katy. You can't stay down here. It's still too damned dangerous. If you want to get killed, there're lots of better ways." His back was toward the sea when the second burst of black smoke erupted from the gun deck of the _Marsten Moor_. "Hugh!" Without thinking she reached for him. Together they rolled twice across the soft earth, into the safety of the shielding bags. As they lay next to the militiamen and gunners, a round of cannon fire clipped the side of a battlement next to where they had been standing and hurtled a deadly spray of brick fragments into the sandbags. Several shards of brick ripped into the cloth and showered them with white grains. He seemed embarrassed now as he slipped his arm under her and quietly hoisted her to her feet. Around them the militiamen were again returning to work on the disabled cannon. "I don't know whether to thank you, Katy, or order you clapped in the brig for coming here in the first place. But either way, you can't stay. So kindly wait up the hill till . . ." The sound of a forceful hammer stroke followed by a clear ring produced a cheer from the group of men who had been diligently hammering on one of the spiked cannon. "Got her cleared, Yor Worship," one of the militiamen yelled toward Winston. "Fit as the day she was cast." He abruptly turned and headed through the crowd to inspect the breech of the gun. After scrutinizing the reopened touch hole, he motioned toward a waiting gunner. "Ladle in about five pounds of powder and see how she fires." Tom Canninge called from the other end of the breastwork, "I've got the altitude about set on this little nine-pounder, Cap'n. It's the best of the lot." "Then see if you can't put a round through her portside gun deck." His voice was increasingly strained. "Good as done." Canninge ordered the demi-culverin shifted a few degrees to the left, then motioned for a linstock and lightly applied the burning end to the touch hole. The gun roared and kicked backward in a cloud of dense, oily smoke. While the men squinted against the sun to watch, a large hole splintered open along the portside bow of the _Marsten Moor_, just above the waterline. Moments later a mate in the maintop began to unfurl tops'ls, and after that the mainsail dropped in preparation to make for open sea. "Let's give her a sendoff, masters." Winston led the cheers, and Katherine realized he was deliberately trying to boost morale. Next he yelled down the sweating line of men. "Hear me, now. Our good master Canninge has just earned us all a tot of kill-devil. By chance I think a keg may have arrived this morning, on a cart that found its way up from Bridgetown. We should take a look up by that large tree on the left." He paused and waited for the hoorahs to subside. "Under my command, the men always drink first, then officers." He waved a dismissal. "As you will, masters." As the gunners and militiamen threw down their tools and began to bustle in the direction of the liquor, he turned to Katherine and his voice dropped. "Now that we're both still alive, maybe we can talk. Why don't we try and find some shade ourselves?" "You seem exhausted." As she looked at him, realizing that even his brown eyes seemed pale, she found herself almost reluctant to raise the matter of Jeremy. Maybe he had enough to worry about. "Bone-tired is more the word. But we've got the fleet out of range for a while. Now we just have to worry about what they'll think to try next." Hearing the open concern in his voice, she wrapped a consoling arm about his waist as they walked down the stone steps of the abandoned breastwork. "But the invasion failed. This round is won, isn't it?" "If you can call that massacre last night 'winning,' then I suppose you could say so." He heaved a weary sigh. "Planters make poor soldiers, Katy. As best I can tell, we lost eighteen men killed outright. And a lot more were wounded. Some of them will doubtless die too, given this heat. So all we did was drive the Roundheads back to sea for a while, but at a terrible cost." He looked down. "They took some prisoners. Two longboats full. Probably about thirty men, though we don't really know yet who's captured, or missing . . . or just gone off to hide." "Well, that's not so many." "True enough. We managed to take a few prisoners ourselves, maybe half a dozen or so. . . . I guess maybe you didn't hear. Jeremy Walrond has disappeared. We think he was taken prisoner." "Thank God. Then he's not dead." She stopped still. "But . . . captured? Poor Jeremy. He'd probably sooner have been killed. He was so proud." "Anthony's proud too, and he's taking it very hard. When we heard Jeremy was missing, I offered to take the command here, to let him go back to Bridgetown and see if he was with the wounded. Then somebody suggested that Jeremy probably had surrendered, and Anthony threatened to kill the man. It was plain he needed some rest." She stood silent for a moment, then looked away sadly. "What do you think will happen now?" Winston followed her gaze, out toward the horizon. "Maybe everybody will try to negotiate some more. It's getting complicated all of a sudden, with prisoners now part of it. Unfortunately we didn't manage to take any officers, just infantry--most of them so weak from scurvy the fleet's probably just as glad to have them gone, before they died anyway. " "What'll happen to Jeremy? You don't suppose they'd hang him." "I doubt that." He waved his hand. "So far it's a civilized war. But they may ask a price to send him back if they find out he's Anthony's brother. It's very bad." "What do you suppose we can do?" "Not much I can think of. Maybe they'll just try to wait us out a bit." He reached down and lightly brushed some of the dirt and sand from her hair. Then he wiped his brow, glanced at the sun, and urged her on, toward the grove of trees. "I'd guess it's a matter now of who can hold out longest." He slipped his arm about her waist and glanced down. "And how're you holding up, Katy?" "I suppose I'm fine." She leaned against him, trying to ignore the heat and the stares of some of the men. Finally she gave a mirthless laugh. "No, do you want the truth? I'm more worried than ever. Isn't it odd? Just when we seem to be standing firm." She looked up at his smoke- smeared cheeks. "Can we go hide? Away from here? I think your morale could do with a boost too." "You're looking at a somewhat disoriented breastwork commander. Make that 'acting commander.' But Anthony's supposed to be back around now to relieve me. Whenever he gets here, we can ride back over to Bridgetown, if I can manage to locate a horse." He helped her down beneath the shade of a spreading manchineel tree, kicking away several of the poisonous apples that lay rotting around the trunk. Then he flopped down beside her. "This is one of the hardest things I've ever tried, Katy, holding defenses together when half the men truly don't care a damn whether we win or lose. But it's the only thing I know to do. Tell me if you can think of anything better." "Is that all you've thought about lately, Hugh?" She ran a hand along his thigh. "It's all I care to think about for the time being." She pulled back sharply. "Well, commander, please don't think I have nothing else to occupy my mind with except you. But that doesn't mean I've just forgotten you entirely." "I haven't forgotten you either, Katy. God's life!" He picked up a twig and tapped it against one of the poison apples. "Tell me, what does the governor of Barbados think about his only daughter keeping company with the likes of me?" "I do what I choose." She pressed against him. "Anyway, it's not what he says that troubles me. It's what I say to myself. I've always been able to control my feelings. But, somehow, not with you. And I hate myself for it. I truly do." "I'm probably a poor choice for the object of your feelings." She laughed and squeezed his hand. "God help me, as if I didn't already know that. Who'd ever have thought I'd be going about half in love with a man like you." "I thought you once said you weren't interested in falling in love." He kissed her lightly. "Probably a safe idea. I don't know how many of us are going to live through this." Before she could respond, he rose on one elbow and pointed toward a pair of horses approaching from the south. "It looks like we may get back to Bridgetown after all. I think that's Briggs, and he's brought Anthony with him. It's odds they both distrust me only slightly more than they hate each other, but it's enough to make them allies for a while. Well, they're welcome to have back this command any time they want it." "Then we can ride in together?" "I don't think Anthony's going to like that idea, but it's your affair. God knows I know better than to try and give you advice." She laughed. "Then you're starting to understand me better than I thought." "Let me just have a word with Anthony about the condition of the ordnance. And make some gunnery assignments." He began to pull himself up. "Then maybe we'll retire down to the _Defiance _for a while. I've missed her." He stooped and kissed the top of her head as he rose to his feet. "And I've missed you, too. Truly." Anthony Walrond reined in his dun mare and stared dumbly toward the shore as he and Briggs emerged from the trees. The night before it had been a melee of muskets, commands, screams; now it was a smoky landscape strewn with lost helmets and bandoliers, and stained with dark splotches where men had fallen. In its peacefulness it made the battle seem scarcely more than a violent dream, a lost episode that existed only in man's flawed memory, not in time. Battles, he reflected, were always a matter of chance. You plan strategies for days, devise elaborate tactics, try to guess what you would do if you were the foe. But in the end little of it really matters. A man panics, or a horse stumbles, or your musket fails to fire, and suddenly nothing happens the way you thought. It becomes a contest of bravery, luck, happenstance. Whether you win or lose, it's likely as not for reasons you never envisioned. In a way, last night's episode was no different. Dick Morris and his Roundheads lost more men than they should have. Since they only expected militia at the breastwork, the parapet caught them by surprise. Also, they seemed deceived at first by the feigned retreat, the bird limping and flopping away from her nest to lure the fox. Except this time the fox suddenly grew wise. The limping bird somehow bungled its part, caused the fox to smell a trap. Which left no recourse but to launch a bloody counterattack directly on the breastwork. Jeremy. They claimed he was surrounded and taken while reloading his musket. Holding his position. But why? He knew the orders. He disobeyed. He disobeyed. Anthony was still gripping the reins, his knuckles white, when Briggs broke the silence. "As usual, it's a good thing I rode over to check. Where're the men? Is that them drinking in the shade, whilst the breastwork is left unattended?" He drew his horse alongside Anthony's and squinted against the sun. "Winston has a peculiar idea of discipline, by my life." "These men are not a gang of your African cane cutters. He's got enough sense to know he can't work them all day in the sun. I'll wager full half of them would just as soon not be here at all." "Now you're beginning to sound like him." Briggs spotted the tall seaman walking up the shore and reined around. "And in truth, sir, I'm starting to question whether either of you should be kept in charge of this breastwork." "Well, after last night, I propose you could just as well put a scullery wench in command here at Jamestown, for all the difference it would make." Walrond was studying the breastwork as they neared the shore. "There's not likely to be another attempt at a landing along here. It'd be too costly and Morris knows it. No commander in the English army would be that foolhardy. Doubtless he thought he'd managed to spike all our ordnance, and he just planned to sit back and shell the settlement here all day today. It looks as if they took a few rounds of shot this morning, but the shelling seems over. I'd guess Winston's lads managed to hold their own." "Aye, God be praised for the Dutchmen and their demi- culverin." Briggs touched his black hat toward the approaching figure. "Your servant, Captain. How goes it?" "Our gunners put some shot into the _Rainbowe _and the _Marsten Moor_ before they weighed anchor and made way out to sea. I'd venture the better part of the ordnance here should be serviceable again by nightfall." He nodded to Walrond. "Any news of the prisoners?" "This morning all the field commanders brought in reports." The royalist's voice was matter-of-fact. "As best we can tell, twenty-nine of our men were taken out to the _Rainbowe _last night." "And Jeremy was among their number, the way somebody said? There was no mistake about that?" "It appears likely." He looked away, to cover his embarrassment, and spotted Katherine walking toward them up the beach. He adjusted his eyepatch in anger and glanced back sharply at Winston. Could it be the rumors were all too true? If so, then damn him. Damn her. "I trust Miss Bedford has already been informed?" "A few minutes ago." "Well, sir, I fancy her dismay did not go uncomforted." He swung down from the saddle. "I can assume duties here now, and relieve you, sir. She has to be taken home. This is scarcely the place for a woman." "You're welcome to have it. I just need to make a few gunnery assignments of my own men. But I'd advise you to let the lads cool off a bit before starting them working again." He turned to hold the reins of Briggs' horse as the planter began dismounting. "One other thing. Before I go, I'd like a word with you. Master Briggs. Considering what's happened, I'd like it if you'd convey a message from me to the Council." "Speak your mind, sir." Briggs eased himself out of the saddle and dropped down. His heavy boots settled into the loose sand. "I lost three seamen last night, good men, when we charged the breastwork. They'll be buried tomorrow with all the others killed." "It was a hard night for us all, sir." "Don't try my patience, Master Briggs. I'm not in the mood." He paused to wait as Katherine joined the circle. "Katherine, your servant." Anthony coldly doffed his hat in greeting. "Here to review the militia?" "I came to find out about Jeremy." "I'm still hoping there must be some mistake." He abruptly turned away. "Well, now that I know, I suppose I'll go back." She looked at him, elegant and cool even now, and told herself she should be more embarrassed than she felt, having him see her here with Hugh. What was he really thinking? "Katy, wait. I'm glad you're here." Winston motioned her forward, ignoring Anthony's pained look. "Perhaps it'd be well for you to hear this too. Maybe you can convey what I want to say to the Assembly, for whatever good it may do." He turned back. "I want to tell you all that I've concluded this militia is untrained, undisciplined, and, what's worse, uninterested in getting shot all to hell defending Barbados. I hear them asking each other why they're fighting at all." "We're holding them off nicely, sir," Briggs interjected. "I'm proud of . . ." "Hear me. I tell you we were just lucky last night. Morris' men might well have held the breastwork if they hadn't panicked. The next time 'round we may not be as fortunate." He fixed Briggs squarely. "What you and the Council have to decide is whether you're willing to do what's necessary to win." "We're doing everything we can." "It's not enough. Next time, Morris will doubtless try and land every man he has. When he does, I wonder if this militia will even bother to meet them." "I don't agree with you there, sir." Briggs was frowning. "But then I suppose you figure you've got some idea nobody else has thought of yet." "Do you want to hear it?" "_I'd _like to hear it." Anthony Walrond had finished hobbling his mare and stepped next to them. "All right. First, I say prune out the small freeholders, send any of them home who want to go." He turned to Walrond. "Then get rid of any of the royalists who don't have battle experience. They want to give orders, but they don't know what they're about. The rest of the men don't like it." He paused carefully. "I don't like it either." "You're presumptuous, sir, if I may say." Anthony glared. "You may say what you please. But if you don't do something about morale, this war's as good as over." "It most certainly will be, if we dismiss most of the militia, which is what it would mean if we did what you just said." "I didn't say you don't need a militia. You just need men in it who're ready to stand and fight." Briggs examined him quizzically. "But if we dismissed all these half- hearted freeholders, there'd be scarcely any free men left on the island to take their place." "That's right. You'd have to make some free men." He gestured toward the hills inland. "Do you realize there're hundreds of first class fighting men here now, men with battle experience who could massacre Morris' forces if given a chance? And, more to the point, if you gave them something to fight for." "Who do you mean?" "You know who. These new Africans. They've got battle experience, I can tell just by looking at them. I don't know how many of them have ever handled a musket, but I'd wager a lot of them can shoot. Make them part of your militia, and Morris' infantrymen'll never know what hit them." "I'm damned if we'll arm these savages and let them loose on the island. Next thing, they'd try and take over. It'd be the end of slavery. Which means the end of sugar." "Doesn't have to be. Let them work for wage and start treating them like men. Then, instead of worrying about having them at your back, you'd have them holding your defenses." "That's about the damnedest idea I've ever come across." Briggs spat into the sand. "Then you've got a choice. You can have slavery, or you can win independence. Either you get them to help, or you end up a slave to the Commonwealth yourself." He glanced at Katherine, then back at Briggs as he continued. "And the same goes for your indentures. How in hell do you expect this island to hold out against England when half the men here would just as soon see you lose? But give the slaves, and the indentures, a stake in this, and you'll have a good ten or fifteen thousand fighting men here. Morris has maybe three, four hundred. He'll never take Barbados. I want you to tell that to the Council." "I'll be party to no such undertaking." Briggs squinted through the sunshine. "Then give my regards to the admiral when you sit down to sign the surrender. I give you a week at most." He turned and touched Katherine's arm. "Katy, if you'd like me to see you home, then wait over there by that shade tree while I make gunnery assignments." Atiba moved noiselessly along the wet sand of the shore, crouched low, the wind in his face, just as he had once stalked a wounded leopard in the forest three days north of Ife. This part of the harbor was almost deserted now; only two frigates remained, and they were both lodged in the sand, immobile. One was the great, stinking ship that had brought him to this forlorn place. He hated it, had vowed never to be on it again. Furthermore, tonight its decks were crowded with drinking, singing _branco_. The other one would have to supply what he needed-- the one belonging to the tall Ingles _branco_ with the mark on his cheek. He secured the stolen machete in his waist-wrap and waded into the water. When the first salty wave curved over him, he leaned into it with his shoulder and began to swim--out away from the shore, circling around to approach the ship from the side facing the sea. As he swam, he thought again of what he must do. It was not a mission of his choosing. He had finally agreed to come because there was no other way to placate the elders. Until last night he had not realized how much they feared the arms of the _branco_. . . "We must be like the bulrush, not like brittle grass," Tahajo, the oldest and hence presumed the wisest, had declared. "A bulrush mat will bend. A grass mat breaks to pieces. Do not be brittle grass, Atiba, be like the bulrush. Do what we ask of you." "Tahajo's wisdom is known throughout Ife." Obewole, the strongest of them all, had next conceded his own fear. "Remember it's said you cannot go to war with only a stick in your hand; you must carry a crossbow." Atiba had intended the meeting in his hut to be their final council of war. Last evening was carefully chosen, auspicious. It was the fourth night of the new moon on the island of Barbados. In Ife it would have been the fourth day of a new month, and also the last day of the week-- a cycle of four days dedicated to major gods of the Yoruba pantheon; Shango, Obatala, Orunmila, and Ogun. The appearance of the new moon was important and signified much. By telling the beginning of the month, it scheduled which days would be market days, which were sacred, what god was responsible for the birth of a child. They had waited quietly in his thatched hut as twilight settled across the fields of cane. Swallows twittered among the tall palms, and the half-light was spotted with darting bats. The heat of the long day still immersed the hillside. On the far western horizon, where the sea disappeared into the Caribbean mist, three of the great ships of the Ingles fleet had begun preparing their sails. They too seemed to be waiting for the appearance of the new Yoruba moon. He began with a review of their weapons. There would be difficulties. Since the cane knives had been removed from the slave quarters on most of the plantations and secured in the great house, it would be necessary to break in and take them back, which meant the advantage of surprise would be lost. For spears, they would have to try and seize some of the pikes the _branco_ now had in readiness to protect the island from the fleet. Again that meant bloodshed. Also, their numbers were still uncertain. All the Yoruba had agreed to rise up, and final preparations had been coordinated across the island using the _iya ilu_ drum. But the other men of Africa? What of them? The Ibo nursed historic hatreds toward the Yoruba, and their response to the plan for rebellion had been to shift on their feet, spit on the ground, and agree to nothing. There were also Ashanti and Mandingo. These he trusted even less than the Ibo. Command would be difficult: there were too many languages, too many loyalties, too many ancient grievances. The men in the hut finally concluded that only the Yoruba could be relied upon. When the day of war comes, you only trust your own blood, your own gods. After the moon had disappeared, he'd cast the cowries, praying Ogun would presage the defeat of the _branco_. The men required an omen. And an omen there had been. At that exact moment the silence of the night was rent by sounds of gunfire rising up from the western shore, faint staccato pops through the trees. They were as drumbeats that carried no words, yet their message was unmistakable. Ogun, the god of war, had spoken--not through the pattern in the cowries on a tray, but with his own voice. Fear suddenly gripped the men in the hut. What was Ogun's purpose in answering the cowries this way? Thus their council of war had dissolved in meaningless talk and confusion. Finally the misgivings of the elders emerged. There must be, they said, no rising against the _branco _unless success was assured. The elder Tahajo recalled the famous proverb: _Aki ida owo le ohun ti ako le igbe_--"A man should not attempt to raise up something he cannot lift." The other men had nodded gravely, taking his mouthing of this commonplace to demonstrate great sagacity. Then young Derin, in a flagrant breach of etiquette amongst a council of elders, had dared to cite an opposing parable: _Bi eya ba di ekun, eran ni ikpa dze_--"When the wild cat becomes a leopard, it can devour great beasts." We must become brave like the leopard, he urged. When the _branco _see our boldness they will quake with fear as we go to war against them. Tahajo had listened tolerantly, then countered again: _Alak-atanpo oju ko le ita eran pa_--"He who has only his eyebrow for a crossbow can never kill an animal." So it had continued long into the night. Atiba had no choice but to wait until the elders decided. Finally they agreed that Ogun would have them go to war only if they had weapons to match those of the _branco_. That was the message in the gunfire that had erupted the moment the cowries were cast. Atiba must assure them he could find muskets, or there would be no rebellion. . . . He stroked silently on through the surf. Now the dark outline of the _branco's_ ship loomed above him, still, deserted. Soon he would find what he had come to learn. He grasped a salt-encrusted rope ladder which dangled from the side and pulled out of the water. He did not bother using the rungs; instead he lifted himself directly up. His feet were noiseless as he dropped onto the deck. A quick reconnaissance revealed only one sentry, a fat _branco _snoring loudly in a chair on the high deck at the back of the ship. He slipped up the companionway, gripping each weathered board with his toes, and stood over the man, wondering if he should kill him, lest he waken suddenly and sound an alarm. Then he remembered the words of Shango that night in the mill house. It would be a bad omen to spill innocent blood before the rebellion even began. Shango had declared he would only countenance the killing of men who threatened harm. Also, lying beside the man was an empty flask, which surely had contained the strong wine made from cane. This snoring _branco _would not soon awaken. He turned and inched his way back down the companion-way. The only sounds now were the gentle splash of surf against the side of the ship and the distant chirp of crickets from the shore. He moved stealthily along the creaking boards until he reached the locked door at the front of the ship, the place where the _branco _captains stored their weapons. He tried to still his heart, feeling it begin to race with anticipation. If there were weapons here, muskets or pikes, they would be easy to seize when the moment came to rise up. There would be no need to storm the plantation houses for guns and spears, and their plans could proceed in total secrecy till the moment the _branco _slaveholders were surprised and cut down. He recalled the rumor that the _branco _who owned this ship had bought and freed two hundred white slaves, and then had given some of them weapons to fight the warriors of the Ingles fleet. Surely he had more muskets and pikes than any of the _branco _planters. How many would be left? He slipped the machete from his waistband and wedged it silently under a hinge on the heavy wooden door. The wood was old and the nails pulled easily. When the three hinges had been removed, he laid the machete on the deck and lifted the door around. The interior of the fo'c'sle was dark, but he dared not try to make a light. The risk was too great that he might set off any gunpowder stored here. Instead he felt his way forward. The space was crowded with racks, and in them were rows of new pikes and half-pikes, hundreds. Then his hand touched a row of long steel cylinders. Musket barrels. Ogun had answered their prayers. This ship had an arsenal that would equip an entire army, a cache that would ensure their victory. The second week following, seven days hence, the time sacred to Ogun, he would bring the men and they would overwhelm the ship, seize the weapons. . . . He had turned to grope his way back to the deck when he first saw the two silhouettes against the dim light of the doorway. A tall man was there, blocking his exit, and next to him was the outline of a _branco _woman. "John, what in the name of hell are you doing in the fo'c'sle?" The voice sounded tired and annoyed. "Is this how you stand watch?" "Hugh, take care." It was the voice of the _branco _woman he remembered from the first night in the boiling house. He froze against a wall and reached for his machete. It was missing. Like a fool he'd left it outside. Quietly he lifted one of the pikes from the rack and inched slowly toward the figures in the doorway. Through the dark came a shout from the other end of the deck. The sleeping _branco _had awakened. "God's wounds, Cap'n. I'm watching this ship like a hawk over a henhouse. There's no need to be carry in' on." The man laughed. "Lest you upset the lady." "John, is that you?" The tall man's voice quickened. "Then, by Jesus, who's . . .?" Atiba lunged toward the doorway, his pike aimed at the tall shadow. The man had already feinted back against the shrouds. He carried no sword, but a pistol had appeared in his right hand, as though by magic. With the other he shoved the _branco _woman back against the shrouds, out of reach. The pike missed him, tangled in a knot of lines dangling from the mast, and was lost. Then the glint of his machete caught Atiba's notice and he dropped toward the darkness of the deck. He rolled twice, bringing himself within reach of its wooden handle. He was on his feet, swinging for the man, when he heard the crack of the pistol and felt a tremor in his wrist. The tip of the machete blade sang into the night, but the stump was still left, and still deadly. Now the fight would be at close quarters. He told himself he welcomed that--and sprang for the dark silhouette. He was thrusting the blade upward, toward the tall man's neck, when he heard an unexpected click from the pistol barrel, followed by a hard voice. It was a threat that needed no translation. "No, by God. Or I'll blow your bloody head off." The hot muzzle of the pistol was against his cheek. But his blade was against the man's throat. "_Meu Deus_. Briggs' Yoruba." The man quickly switched to Portuguese. "_Felicitacao_, senhor. You're every bit as fast as I'd thought. Shall we call it a draw?" It was the _branco_, the one who had freed his slaves. The last man on the island he wished to kill. Shango would be incensed. "I think one of us must die." He held the broken blade hard against the flesh, and he could almost feel the pulse of blood just beneath the skin. "It's both of us, or neither, by Jesus. Think about that." "Your pistol had only one bullet. It is gone." "Take a look and you'll see there're two barrels." The tall man had not wavered. "Shall I just blow the thievin' bastard to hell, Cap'n?" It was the voice of the man who had been asleep. From the corner of his eye Atiba could see him standing by the foremast. There was the click of a flintlock being cocked. "No, John. He's like to slit my throat in the bargain with what's left of his God-cursed machete." The words were in English. Then the man switched back to Portuguese. "A trade, senhor. A life for a life." "In Ife we say we cannot dwell in a house together without speaking to one another. But if you betray me, you will answer for it to all my clan. Remember that." The broken machete slowly pulled away, then dropped to the deck. "Hold the musket on him, John. I don't know whether to trust these Africans." Again Portuguese. "Life for life. Agreed." He lowered the pistol, then slipped it into his belt. With an easy motion he pulled down a lantern hanging from the shrouds and struck a flint to it. A warm glow illuminated the open door of the fo'c'sle, and the tanned face of the _branco _woman. "Now. Atiba the Yoruba, you be gone and I'll forget you were ever here. Briggs would likely have you whipped into raw meat for his dogs if he ever found out about this." The _branco _was looking into his eyes. "But you probably already know that. I salute your courage, senhor. Truth is, I once thought about having you help me." "Help you?" He studied the _branco's _face. "For what purpose?" "If you weren't too stubborn to take orders, I'd planned to train you into a first-class fighting man. Maybe make you second-in-command for a little war of my own. Against the Spaniards." The man was outlined in the pale light. "I'd hoped we might fight together, instead of against each other." "That is a strange idea for a _branco_." He was studying the scar on the tall man's cheek. "But then you have the mark on your cheek like the clan sign of a Yoruba. Perhaps the place you got it taught you something of brotherhood as well." "It was a long time past, though maybe it did at that. I do know I'm still a brother to any man I like. You were once in that category, senhor, till you came on my ship trying to knife me. Now you'd best tell me what you're doing here." "I wanted to see your ship." "Well, you've seen it. You also tore off some hinges." "I will replace them for you." He smiled. "Wrapping a razor preserves its sharpness." The man seemed momentarily startled; then a look of realization spread through his eyes. Finally he turned and spoke in English to the fat _branco _holding the musket. "John, fetch a hammer and some fresh nails from below decks. You know where ship's carpenter keeps them." "What're you saying, Cap'n?" The fat _branco_ had not moved. "You'd have me go aft? An' the musket I'm holdin' on the bastard? Who's to handle that whilst I'm gone?" "I'll take it." The _branco _woman stepped forward. "Give it to her." "You'd best keep a close eye, Cap'n." The fat man hesitated. "I think this one'd be a near match for you. . . ." "Just fetch the hammer, John." "Aye." He reluctantly passed the musket and began backing slowly toward the hatch leading to the lower deck. Atiba watched him disappear into the dark, then turned back to Winston. "You do not own slaves, senhor. Yet you do nothing about those on this island who do." "What goes on here is not my affair. Other men can do what they like." "In Ife we say, 'He who claps hands for the fool to dance is no better than the fool.'" He glanced back at the arsenal stored in the dark room behind him. "If you do nothing to right a wrong, then are you not an accomplice?" The man suddenly seemed to understand everything. Without a word he walked over and shoved the door against the open fo'c'sle. "Let me give you some wisdom from this side of the wide ocean, my friend. I think all the drumming I've been hearing, and now this, means you're planning some kind of revolt. I'm not going to help you, and I'm damned if you're going to use any of my muskets." He reached up and adjusted the lantern. "I've done everything I can to end slavery. Nobody on this island listens to me. So whatever you do is up to you." "But without weapons, we have no chance of winning our freedom." "You've got no chance in any case. But if you steal some of these muskets of mine, you'll just manage to kill a lot of people before you have to surrender and be hanged." He watched the fat man emerge from the hatch. "I'd hate to see you hanged, Atiba the Yoruba." "What's the savage got to say for himself, Cap'n?" The man was carrying a hammer. "Was he plannin' to make off with a few o' those new flintlocks we got up at Nevis?" "I think he was just exploring, John." The words were in English now. "Help him put the door back and show him how to fix the hinges." "As you will, Cap'n. But keep an eye on him, will you? He's like to kill the both of us if he takes a mind." "Katy, keep him covered." "God, but he's frightening. What were you two talking about?" "We'd best go into that later." He glanced at Mewes. "John, give him the hammer." The fat _branco _reluctantly surrendered the tool, then warily reached to hold the hinges in place. There was a succession of quick, powerful strokes, and the door was aligned and swinging better than before. "Now go on back to Briggs' plantation. And pray to whatever gods you have that he doesn't find out you were gone tonight." He picked up the broken machete and passed it over. "Take this. You're going to need it." "You know we will need more than this." Atiba reached for the handle, turned the broken blade in the light, then slipped it into his waistband. "That's right. What you need is to leam how to wait. This island is about to be brought to its knees by the new government of England. In a way, it's thanks to you. When the government on this island falls, something may happen about slavery, though I'm not sure what." He took down the lantern from the shrouds. "But if you start killing whites now, I can assure you you're not apt to live very long, no matter who rules." "I will not continue to live as a slave." "I can understand that. But you won't be using my flintlocks whilst getting yourself killed." He held the lantern above the rope ladder and gestured for Atiba to climb down into the shallow surf. "Never, ever try stealing muskets from my ship. Mark it well." Atiba threw one leg over the gunwale and grasped a deadeye to steady himself. "I think you will help us when the time comes. You speak like a Yoruba." He slipped over the side with a splash, and vanished into the dark. "God's blood, Cap'n, but that's a scary one." Mewes stared after him nervously. "I got the feelin' he seemed to know you." "I've seen him a time or two before." He retrieved the musket from Katherine and handed it back to Mewes. Then he doused the lantern. "Come on, Katy. Let's have a brandy." "I could use two." As they entered the companionway leading aft to the Great Cabin he called back, "By the way, John, it'd be just as well not to mention to anybody that he was here. Can I depend on you?" "Aye, as you will." He slipped his arm about Katherine's waist and pushed open the door of the cabin. It was musty and hot. "I've got a feeling that African thinks he's coming back for the muskets, Katy, but I'll not have it." "What'll you do?" She reached back and began to loosen the knot on her bodice, sensing a tiny pounding in her chest. "I plan to see to it he gets a surprise instead." He lit the lamp, then pulled off his sweaty jerkin and tossed it into the corner. "Enough. Let's have a taste of you." He circled his arms around her and pulled her next to him. As he kissed her, he reached back and started unlacing her bodice. Then he whispered in her ear. "Welcome back aboard." Chapter Thirteen With every step Jeremy took, the wooded trail leading inland from Oistins Bay felt more perilous, more alien. Why did the rows of stumps, once so familiar, no longer seem right? Why had he forgotten the spots in the path where the puddles never dried between rains, only congealed to turgid glue? He had ridden it horseback many a time, but now as he trudged up the slope, his boots still wet from the surf, he found he could remember almost nothing at all. This dark tangle of palms and bramble could scarcely be the direction home. But the way home it was. The upland plantation of Anthony Walrond was a wooded, hundred and eighty acre tract that lay one mile inland from the settlement around Oistins Bay--itself a haphazard collection of clapboard taverns and hewn-log tobacco sheds on the southern, windward side of the island. The small harbor at Oistins was host to an occasional Dutch frigate or a small merchant vessel from Virginia or New England, but there was not enough tobacco or cotton to justify a major landing. It was, however, the ideal place to run a small shallop ashore from a ship of the fleet. He reached a familiar arch of palms and turned right, starting the long climb along the weed-clogged path between the trees that led up to the house. As he gripped his flintlock and listened to the warbling of night birds and the menacing clatter of land crabs, he reflected sadly that he was the only man on Barbados who knew precisely what lay in store. He had received a full briefing from the admiral of the fleet aboard the _Rainbowe_. What would Anthony do when he heard? He tried to sort out once more what had happened, beginning with that evening, now only two days past, when Admiral Calvert had passed him the first tankard. . . . "If I may presume to say, it's a genuine honor to share a cup with you, Master Walrond." Calvert's dark eyes had seemed to burn with determination as he eased back into his sea chair and absently adjusted his long white cuffs. He'd been wearing a black doublet with wide white epaulettes and a pristine bib collar, all fairly crackling with starch. "And to finally have a word with a man of breeding from this infernal settlement." Jeremy remembered taking a gingerly sip of the brandy, hoping perhaps it might somehow ease the pain of his humiliation. Still ringing in his ears were the screams of dying men, the volleys of musket fire, the curses of the Roundhead infantry in the longboat. But the liquor only served to sharpen his horrifying memory of the man he had killed less than an hour before, his finger on the trigger of the ornate flintlock now resting so innocently on the oak table between them. "The question we all have to ask ourselves is how long this damnable state of affairs can be allowed to go on. Englishmen killing their own kind." Calvert had posed the question more to the air than to the others in the room. Colonel Morris, his face still smeared with powder smoke, had shifted his glance back and forth between them and said nothing. He clearly was impatient at being summoned to the Great Cabin when there were wounded to attend. Why, Jeremy had found himself wondering, was Morris present at all? Where was the brash vice admiral, the man who had wanted him imprisoned below decks? What was the hidden threat behind Calvert's too-cordial smiles? But the admiral betrayed nothing as he continued. "The Civil War is over, may Almighty God forgive us for it, and I say it's past time we started healing the wounds." Jeremy had listened as the silence once more settled around them. For the first time he'd become aware of the creaking of the boards as the _Rainbowe _groaned at anchor. After so much death, he'd found himself thinking, you begin to notice the quietness more. Your senses are honed. Could it be even creatures of the field are the same; does the lowly hare feel life more exquisitely when, hounds baying on its scent, it hovers quivering in the grass? He wondered what he would do if the musket on the table were primed and in his hands. Would he raise it up and destroy this man who had come to conquer the last safe place on earth left for him? As he tried to still the painful throb in his temples, Calvert continued. "I'm a plain-speaking seaman, Master Walrond, nothing more. Though my father served in your late king's court, watching his Catholic queen prance amongst her half-dressed Jezebels, I never had any part of it. But I've seen dead men enough whose spilled blood is on that king's head, for all his curls and silks." Calvert had suddenly seemed to remember himself and rose to pour a tankard for Morris. He took another sip from his own, then turned back. "And there's apt to be more killing now, here in the Americas, before this affair's finished. But to what purpose, sirrah? I ask you. We both know the island can't hold out forever. We've got her bottled now with this blockade, and the bottle's corked. What's more, I know for a fact you're all but out of meat and bread, whilst we've made free with all the victuals these interloping Hollanders in Carlisle Bay kindly had waiting to supply us. So my men'll be feasting on capon and port whilst your planters are starving, with nothing in the larder save tobacco and cane. You've never troubled to grow enough edibles here, since you could always buy from these Hollanders, and now it's going to be your downfall." Calvert's eyes had flashed grimly in the lantern light. When Morris had stirred, as though to speak, he'd silenced the commander with a brisk wave of his hand, then continued. "But we're not planning just to wait and watch, that I can promise you. Colonel Morris here will tell you he's not going to sleep easy till this island is his. At the break of day he'll commence his first shelling, right here at Jamestown where he's spiked the ordnance. You'll see that spot, breastwork and the rest, turned to rubble by nightfall tomorrow. No, Colonel Morris is not of my mind; he's not a country angler who'd sit and wait for his line to bob. He's a man who'll wade in and take his perch with both hands." Calvert had sighed and risen to open the windows at the stern. Cool air washed over them, bringing with it the moans of wounded men from the deck above. Jeremy noted the windows had been severely damaged by cannon fire and temporarily repaired with wood rather than leaded glass. Calvert listened glumly for a moment, then shoved the windows closed and turned back. "But what's the point of it, Master Walrond, by all that's holy?" "You'll never take Barbados, blockade or no." Jeremy had tried to meet the glare in Calvert's eyes. "We'll never surrender to Cromwell and this rabble army." "Ah, but take you we will, sir, or I'm not a Christian. The only question is when." He had paused to frown. "And how? Am I to be forced to humble this place till there's nothing left, to shell her ports, burn her crops? I daresay you're not fully aware what's in store for this island. But it's time somebody heard, and listened. I came here with peace in mind, praying your governor and Assembly would have the sense to recognize the Commonwealth. If I was met with defiance, my orders were to bring Barbados to its knees, man and boy. To see every pocket of resistance ferreted out. More than that, you'd best know I'll not be staying here forever. There'll be others to follow, and that young stalwart you met out on decks, my vice admiral, may well claim the only way to keep the island cooperative is to install a permanent garrison. Believe me when I tell you he'd as soon hang a royalist as bag a partridge. Think on that, what it's apt to be like here if you force me to give him free rein." Jeremy had felt Calvert's eyes bore into him. "But, Master Walrond, I think Barbados, the Americas, deserve better." He glanced toward Morris. "And I'll warrant our commander here feels much the same. Neither of us wants fire and sword for this place. Nor, I feel safe in thinking, does anyone on this island. But someone here has got to understand our purpose and harken to reason, or it's going to be damnation for your settlement and for the rest of the Americas." "Then that's what it'll be, if you think you've got the means to attempt it." Jeremy had pulled himself upright in the chair. "But you try landing on this island again and we'll meet you on the beaches with twice the men you've got, just like tonight." "But why be so foolhardy, lad? I'll grant there're those on this island who have no brief for the Commonwealth, well and good, but know this-- all we need from the Americas is cooperation, plain as that; we don't ask servitude." He lowered his voice. "In God's name, sir, this island need merely put an end to its rebellious talk, agree to recognize Parliament, and we can dispense with any more bloodletting." Then Calvert had proceeded to outline a new offer. Its terms were more generous--he'd hammered home time and again--than anyone on the island had any cause to expect. The point he had emphasized most strongly was that Jeremy Walrond stood at the watershed of history. On one side was war, starvation, ignominy; on the other, moderation. And a new future. . . . Ahead the log gables of the Walrond plantation house rose out of the darkness. On his left, through the trees, were the thatched lean-to's of the indentures. A scattering of smoky fires told him some of the servants or their women were still about, frying corn mush for supper. The indentures' few remaining turkeys and pigs were penned now and the pathway was mostly quiet. The only sounds came from clouds of stinging gnats, those pernicious merrywings whose bite could raise a welt for a whole day, their tiny bugles sending a chorus through the dark. In the evening stillness the faint stench of rotting corn husks wafted from a pile in which pigs rooted behind the indentures' quarters, while the more pungent odor of human wastes emanated from the small vegetable patches farther back. He heard occasional voices in the dark, curses from the men and the Irish singsong of women, but no one in the indenture compound saw or heard him pass. Ahead the half-shuttered windows of the plantation house glimmered with the light of candles. It meant, he realized with relief, that Anthony was home, that he'd lit the pewter candelabra hanging over their pine dining table. He stopped for a moment to think and to catch his breath, then moved on past the front portico, toward the servants' entrance at the rear of the house. There was good reason not to announce his arrival publicly. What he had to say was for Anthony, and Anthony alone. As he passed one of the windows he could just make out a figure seated at the table, tankard in hand. The man wore a white kerchief around his neck and a doublet of brown silk, puffed at the shoulders. His dark brown hat rested next to him on the table, its white plume glistening in the dull light. As he pushed on, he noticed that the chimney of the log cookroom in back of the house gave off no smoke, meaning Anthony's servants had already been dismissed for the night. Good. The time could not have been better. Ahead now, just at the corner, was the back doorway. It was ajar and unlatched; as usual the help had been careless as they crept away with meat scraps from Anthony's table to season their own bland meal. He paused at the first step and tried to think how he would begin. For no reason at all he found himself staring up at the stars. The heavens in the Caribbees always reminded him of one dusk, many years ago, when he had first seen London from afar--a jewel box of tiny sparklers hinting of riches, intrigues, delicious secrets. What waited there amidst those London lights, he had pondered, those thousands of flickering candles and cab lanterns? Was it as joyful as it seemed? Or was misery there too, as deep and irreducible as his own? That answer never came. But now this canopy of stars above the Caribbees mantled a place of strife and despair wrenching as man could devise. He gently pushed open the split-log door and slipped through. The back hallway was narrow and unlighted, but its walls were shadowed from the blaze of distant candles. He remembered that Anthony always lit extra tapers when he was morose, as though the burning wicks might somehow rekindle his own spirit. As he moved through the rough-hewn archway leading into the main room, he saw the seated figure draw back with a start and reach for the pistol lying on the table. "By God, what . . ." Suddenly the chair was kicked away, and the man was rushing forward with open arms. "Jeremy! God's life, it's you! Where in heaven's name have you been?" Anthony wrapped him in his arms. "We heard you'd been taken by Morris and the Roundheads." He drew back and gazed in disbelief and joy. "Are you well, lad? Were you wounded?" "I've been with Admiral Calvert on the _Rainbowe_." He heard his own voice, and its sound almost made him start. "You've been . . .?" Anthony's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then you managed to escape! Did you commandeer a longboat? For the love of God, lad, what happened?" What happened? He almost laughed at the question. Would that any man ever knew, he found himself thinking. What ever "happens" . . . save that life flows on, of its own will, and drags you with it willy-nilly? Without a word he carefully settled his flintlock in the corner, next to the rack that held Anthony's own guns--three matchlocks and two flintlocks--and slumped into a vacant chair by the table. "I've a thirst." He glanced distractedly about the room, barely remembering it. For the past two days--now it seemed like an entire age--life had been a ship. "Is there brandy?" "Aye, there's a flask in the sideboard, as always." Anthony examined him curiously. Jeremy rarely drank anything stronger than Madeira wine. "What is it, lad? For God's sake let's have it. All of it." With a tankard in his hand, Jeremy discovered that the first part of the story fairly tumbled forth--the Roundhead captain he had killed, the anger, the dismay, the loose discipline of the men in the trench. He even managed to confess straight out the circumstances of his capture, that he had ignored the call to retreat, only to have his musket misfire. Finally he reached the part where he first met Admiral Calvert. Then the tale seemed to die within him. "Well, lad, what happened next? You say Morris knew who you were?" "Aye, and he spoke of you." Jeremy looked at his brother. "With considerable respect, to tell it truthfully." "A Roundhead schemer, that's Dick Morris, who'd not speak the truth even if he knew how." Anthony leaned forward and examined his tankard. "But I'm beginning to grow fearful he may have the last say in this matter, truth or no." He looked up. "What did you see of their forces, lad? Can they mount another landing?" "They can. They will. They've got the Dutch provisions, and Calvert claims they could hold out for weeks. But he says he'll not wait. He plans to invade." "Aye, I'd feared as much. If he does, I say God help us. This damned militia is plagued with more desertions every day. These freeholders seem to think they've done all they need, after Jamestown. They're saying let somebody else fight the next time, when there isn't anybody else. We're having trouble keeping enough men called up just to man the breastworks." He scratched at his eye-patch distractedly. "I suppose we can still meet them if they try another assault, but it'll be a pitched battle, as God is my witness." Jeremy drank off the tankard, rose, and walked shakily to the sideboard. The onion-flask of brandy was still over half full. He wished he could down it all, then and there. "I heard their plans from Admiral Calvert." He finished pouring and set down the bottle. After a deep drink he moved back to his chair, without meeting Anthony's gaze. "I would all the Assembly and Council could have heard what he said." "What did that Roundhead criminal do? Threaten you, and then send you home in hopes you'd somehow cozen me?" Anthony looked up. "Jeremy, that man's a base traitor to his king. His father was in Charles' court, and Edmond Calvert was knighted for no more cause than being George Calvert's son. Then when Prince Rupert and the navy declared their support for the king, he took his ship and defected to Parliament. . . ." "It wasn't a threat." Suddenly the words came again. Out poured Calvert's story of Cromwell's plans for the island if it defied him. The Assembly and Council would be dismissed and Powlett set up as governor. A garrison would be installed. Moreover, Powlett might well see fit to reward loyal Puritan islanders with the estates of recalcitrant royalists. Anthony Walrond stood to lose all his acres, again. The elder Walrond listened thoughtfully till the story was finished. Then he slowly drained his tankard. "It's the final humiliation. Cromwell, may God damn him, can't rest content merely to strike off the head of his Most Royal Majesty. Now he must needs reduce all that king's loyal subjects to nothing." "But it needn't be." Jeremy put down his tankard. His hands quivered, as though to match the flicker of the candles. "There's something you haven't told me yet, isn't there, lad? You haven't said why they set you ashore. You didn't escape, did you?" Anthony studied him with sudden dismay. "I'll wager you were sent back. Why was it?" "Aye. The reason is this." He rose and reached into the pocket of his doublet. The letter was still there, waiting, its wax seal warm against his shirt. "It's for you." He found himself wishing it had been lost, though he believed with all his heart the message meant salvation. It was a gift of God. Yet something about it now seemed the work of the devil. "What is it, Jeremy?" Anthony stared at the envelope. "Some kind of threat to try and frighten me too?" He looked up and bristled. "They can spare their ink and paper." "Admiral Calvert asked me to deliver this. He and Captain Morris said that whilst you were their staunchest foe, they also knew you for a gentleman. They said you were the only man on the island they felt they could trust. That you alone could prevent this place being brought to ruin by Cromwell--which would probably mean fighting all over the Americas for years, when they just want to settle this and be gone." "Are they asking me to be a traitor to the island?" "They've made an offer, a private offer. They said the Assembly can't be made to reason, that it'd sooner bring ruination to the island than agree to a compromise." "This is damned knavery. To presume I'd be party to disloyalty." "But think on't." Jeremy drank again and felt his boldness renewed. "Why should you sacrifice yourself helping the greedy Puritans on this island? The Council scorns to listen to you, and you've still not been elected to the Assembly. I'd say you've received naught but contempt, from the day you arrived." His voice rose. "Make no mistake on it, there'll be a new regime here after the island surrenders, which it'll have to eventually. Right now, Calvert and Morris just want to keep Barbados out of the hands of this man Powlett." Anthony turned the envelope in his hand. "So what does this cursed letter of Calvert's say?" "Merely that you're a reasonable man, that you're surely sensible of the ruin a total war would mean. And that he's got terms to offer you that are truly in the best interest of Barbados, if only you'd give them ear." "I suppose he made you privy to these most generous terms." Anthony tossed the letter onto the rough pine boards in front of him. "If you'd use your influence to work for peace, and convince your Windward Regiment here in this parish to cooperate, he'll take steps to thwart the designs of Powlett. If the island laid down its arms, then there'd be no garrison of troops. He'll guarantee it. And there'd be amnesty for all the planters." "It's more damn'd Roundhead lies. That's not the voice of Cromwell. That's the voice of an admiral who fears he can't take this place by force. So he'd try doing it by deceit." Anthony's face reddened. "Does the man have the cheek to think I've no scruples whatsoever?" "But he's promised more. He'd form a new Council and make you its head. He and you'd appoint the others together. Of course they'd needs be men of moderate stripe, who'd stood for peace. But you could both work together to ensure the treaty was kept. Powlett might still have to serve as governor for a time, but he'd not be able to do anything without the approval of your new Council." "It's all a deception, lad." Anthony sighed wistfully. "Would it were true. You're young, and I fear to say still a bit gullible. These are promises made in the moonlight and shrugged away at sunrise." "I'm old enough to know there's been enough killing." Jeremy choked back a lump of guilt that rose in his chest. "But the letter's not addressed to me. It's to you. What harm in reading it? Morris would like to arrange a meeting, unarmed, to discuss its terms." "A meeting!" Anthony seemed to spit out the words. "Aye, here along the coast at Oistins. He's to come ashore by longboat tomorrow night, alone, to hear what you have to say." Jeremy took another drink of brandy and its fire burned through him. "There's no harm in that, for sure. It could be the beginning of peace." "Lad, talk sense. They'll not hold to these conditions you've described. Once the island is disarmed, it'll be the end for every free man here." "He said he'd give you all the terms in writing, signed." Jeremy noticed his tankard was dry. He wanted to rise for more brandy, but the room swirled about him. "It's our chance, don't you see. If Barbados goes down fighting, there'll be no terms. No concessions. Just more needless deaths. If you don't hear them out, it'll be on our heads." "I'll not do it." "But what's the Council ever done for you? For that matter, what has Bedford done?" Anthony stared into the empty tankard in his hand and his voice grew bitter. "He's let Katherine take up company with the criminal who robbed our ship at Nevis, whilst we're at this very time negotiating a marriage portion. And made me a laughing stock in the bargain, if you must know." He looked up. "In truth, that's the most Dalby Bedford's done for me as of late." Jeremy felt his face grow flush with embarrassment. "Then I say you owe it to decency to hear what Morris has to offer tomorrow night. Otherwise there'll just be more killing. Next it'll be starvation too. Please. I entreat you to think on it." Anthony picked up the letter and turned it in his hand. "Liberty or death." His voice was strangely subdued. "That's what the Assembly claimed they wanted. But it turns out that was just talk. They don't even want liberty enough to stand and fight for it, that's all too clear now." He pushed open the wax seal with his thumb and unfolded the paper. Jeremy watched his face as he began to read. _My Lord, I send this to you as one who is master of a great deal of reason, and truly sensible of the ruin of the island if it should longer be obstinate. Only after appeal to your Lordship could I satisfy mine own conscience that I had done my duty in avoiding what I can the shedding of blood and the ruin of this island; for although I may by some be looked upon as an Enemy, yet really I do you office of a Friend in urging your Lordship and those engaged with you to judge of the Necessity of your Lordship's and their giving their due obedience to the State of England or else to suffer yourselves to be swallowed up in the destruction which a little time must inevitably bring upon you, which I cannot suppose rational men would wish. My Lord, may it please you to know that I am not ignorant of the Interests of this Island, and very well know the impossibility of its subsistence without the Patronage of England. It is clear to me that God will own us in our attempts against this island (as He hath hitherto done), and yet to show you that I would endeavour what I can to avoid the shedding of blood and the loss of estates, I have thought fit to send this to your Lordship, to offer you such reasonable conditions as may be honourable for the State to give. . . . _ Anthony studied the terms carefully; they were just as described by Jeremy. Calvert was offering a leniency most uncharacteristic of Cromwell. The island would be beholden to Parliament, to be sure, but it would not be humiliated. Moreover, he suddenly thought, when Charles II moved to restore the monarchy, this island's strength and arms would be intact, ready to help throw off the yoke of Cromwell's oppression. With a surge of pleasure he realized this could well be a strategic retreat, in the finest military sense. If Calvert were willing to honor these generous terms, the fight could still be won another day. Particularly if Anthony Walrond controlled the new Council of Barbados. Chapter Fourteen "I've always called it 'Little Island,' since nobody's ever troubled giving it a name." She reined in her mare and directed Winston's gaze toward the atoll that lay a few hundred yards off the coast. The waters along the shore shimmered a perfect blue in the bright midday sun. "At low tide, like now, you can wade a horse right through the shallows." "Does anybody ever come out here?" He drew in his gelding and stared across the narrow waterway. The island was a curious anomaly; there was a high rocky peak at its center, the lookout Katherine had described, and yet the shores were light sand and verdant with palms. Little Island was less than a quarter mile across and shaped like an egg, almost as though God had seen fit to set down a tiny replica of Barbados here off its southern shore. Looking west you could see the forested coast of the mother island, while to the east there was the road leading to Oistins and the Atlantic beyond. "Never. I've ridden out here maybe a dozen times, but there's never been a soul." He turned and surveyed the coast. "What else is around this place?" "Nothing much, really. . . . Just the Walrond plantation, up the coast, inland a mile or so, about halfway between here and Oistins." "Good Christ! I'm beginning to understand it all." He laughed wistfully. "I'll wager you've probably come out here with that gallant of yours." Then he looked at her, his eyes sardonic. "Didn't he get his fancy silk breeches wet riding across the shallows?" "Hugh, not another word. Try to understand." She turned and studied him. These occasional flares of jealousy; did he mean them? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was all just a game to him, playing at being in love. But then, she asked herself, what was she doing? Perhaps wanting to have everything, a lover and a husband. But why couldn't you? Besides, Hugh would be gone soon. Better to enjoy being in love with him while she could. "I mean that. And Anthony must never learn we came here." He was silent for a moment, letting the metrical splash of the surf mark the time. Somehow she'd managed to get away with her little game so far. Anthony Walrond was too busy rallying his royalists to take much notice of anything else. Or maybe he was willing just to turn his blind eye to it all. "Katy, tell me something. How, exactly, am I supposed to fit into all this? You think you can have an amour with me and then wed a rich royalist when I'm gone? I suppose you figure he'll be governor here someday himself, so you won't even have to move out of the compound." "Hugh, I'm in love with you. There, I said it. But I'm going to marry Anthony. It's the sensible thing for me to do. Love needn't have anything to do with that." She urged her horse forward as a white egret swooped past, then turned back brightly. "Let's ride on over. The island's truly a lovely spot, whether you decide to use it or not." He stared after her in amazement. Maybe she was right. Maybe life was just being sensible, taking whatever you could. But that was also a game two could play. So back to business. The island. Time was growing short, and he knew there was no longer any means to finish lading the stores on the _Defiance_ without everyone in Bridgetown suspecting something was afoot. The frigate was aground directly in front of the main tobacco sheds, in full view of every tavern around the harbor. But there was still a way to assemble what was needed--using an old trick he had learned years ago. You pull together your stores in some secluded haven, to be picked up the night you make your break. It had been a week since the invasion at Jamestown, and now what seemed to be a battle of nerves was underway. What else could it be? A new set of terms had been sent ashore by the commander of the fleet, terms the Assembly had revised and sent back, only to have them rejected. After that, there had been quiet. Was Barbados being left to starve quietly in the sun? Or, he'd begun to wonder, was something else afoot? Maybe even a betrayal? Could it be some Puritan sympathizers in the Assembly were trying to negotiate a surrender behind Bedford's back? Even Katherine was worried; and the governor had taken the unprecedented step of arming his servants. A turn for the worse seemed all too likely, given the condition of the island's morale. But she'd insisted they not talk about it today. She touched Coral lightly across the rump with her crop, and the mare stepped eagerly into the crystalline blue water of the shallows, happy to escape the horseflies nipping at its shanks. Winston spurred his mount and splashed after her. Ahead of them, Little Island stood like a tropical mirage in the sea. "You're right about one thing. I'm damned if this place isn't close to paradise. There's not a lovelier spot in the Caribbees." The bottom was mostly gravel, with only an occasional rivulet of sand. "See over there? It looks to be a school of angelfish." He was pointing off to the left, toward an iridescent mass of turquoise and yellow that shimmered just beneath the surface. "I had no idea there was any place like this along here. Tell me, are you sure there's enough draft on the windward side for me to put in and lade?" "When we reach those rocks up ahead, we can tie the horses and walk the shore. Then I suppose you can decide for yourself, Captain." She watched as the glimmer of fish darted forward. To be free like that! Able to go anywhere, do anything. "I remember one place where the bottom seems to drop almost straight down. You could probably anchor there." "Good thing we came early." He glanced up to the sky, then at her. She detected a smile. "This may take a while." What was he thinking? Did he feel the freedom of this place too? She loved being here alone with him, just the two of them. What a proper scandal it would make if anybody found out. "Maybe the real reason I told you about this spot was to lure you out here. And then keep you here all to myself." He started to laugh, then stopped. "I'd probably be an easy captive, betwixt your designs and the guns of the English navy." "Oh, for God's sake don't be so dreary and melancholy. I'm sure you'll be gone from Barbados soon enough, never fear. If that's what you want." She sensed she had pressed him too hard. "But maybe you'll remember me once in a while, after you've sailed off to get yourself killed by the Spaniards." "Well, I'm not done with Barbados yet, I can promise you that." What did he mean? She wished he'd continue, but then his horse stumbled against a rock and he glanced down, distracted. When he looked up again, they were already nearing the shallows of the island. "If I can get a good cart and a couple of draft horses, I'll wager I can bring the other stores I'll need out here with no trouble at all. It's mainly hogsheads of water we're short now, and maybe a few more barrels of salt pork." His gelding emerged from the water, threw back its head and snorted, then broke into a prance along the sandy beach. "No more than two days' work, the way I figure it. I'll have a few of the indentures give my boys a hand." Her mare had already trotted ahead, into the shade of a tall palm whose trunk emerged from behind a rocky embankment. She slipped from the saddle and glanced back at Winston. He was still staring down the shoreline in delight. "If you'd care to tether your frolicking horse, Captain, we can walk around to the other side." "Why don't we swim it?" He pulled his mount alongside hers and dropped onto the sand, his eyes suddenly sparkling. While the horse nuzzled curiously at the salty wetness on its legs, he collected the reins and kneeled down to begin hobbling it. "Can you make it that far?" "Have you gone mad from the heat!" They were alone, miles from anything. He was all hers now, no gunnery mates, no seamen. To swim! What a sensible . . . no, romantic idea. He laughed and began to tie a leather thong to her mare's forelegs. "Katy, you should know better than to try being coy with me. I'll wager you can swim like a fish. You probably learned for no other reason than it's not ladylike." He finished with the mare and rose up, facing her. His face was like fine leather against the blue of the sky. "Besides, I think I'd like seeing you out of that bodice." "Remember, you're not on your quarterdeck today, so I needn't harken to your every wish." She slipped her hands beneath his jerkin and ran them slowly across the muscles on his sides. The feel of him reminded her of their first night together. As she ran her fingers upward, toward his shoulders, his lips came down to hers. "You might get used to it if you tried it once." His voice was almost a whisper. As he kissed her he wrapped her in his arms and deftly pulled the knot at the base of her bodice. "So get yourself out of this thing and let's try the water." He wiggled the laces open and slipped it over her head. She wore nothing beneath, and her breasts emerged milky-white in the sunshine. He paused to examine her, then continued, "Why stand about in this heat when there's a cool lagoon waiting?" He stepped away, slipped off his jerkin, and tossed it across his saddle. He was reaching down to unbuckle his boots when she stopped him. She dropped to her knees, slipped her hands around his waist, and nuzzled her face against his thighs. Then she released him and bent down. "Let me unbuckle your boots." "What?" "I enjoy doing things for you sometimes." He seemed startled; she'd suspected he wouldn't like it. But he didn't pull away. "Come on then." He quickly stepped out of the boots. As she laid them against the trunk of the palm, she noticed they were still smeared with powder residue from that day at the Jamestown breastwork. "We're going to see how far around this island we can swim. Pretend that's an official order from the quarterdeck." He pulled his pistols from his waist and secured them on his saddle. Then he unbuckled his belt and glanced at her. "I don't know about you, but 1 don't plan to try it in my breeches." He solemnly began slipping off his canvas riding trousers. She watched for a moment, then reached for the waist of her skirt. She found herself half wishing he couldn't see her like this, plain and in the sunlight. She liked her body, but would he? Would he notice that her legs were a trifle too slim? Or that her stomach wasn't as round as it should be? Now he was leading the way down the incline toward the lagoon. The white sand was a warm, textured cushion against their bare feet as they waded into the placid waters. Around the island, on the windward side, the waves crashed against the shore, but here the lagoon remained serene. As she noticed the brisk wind against her skin, she suddenly didn't care what he thought. She felt like the most beautiful woman alive. When she was younger, she could ride and shoot as well as any lad on the island; then one day she awoke to find herself cloaked in a prison of curves and bulges, with a litany in her ears about all the things she wasn't supposed to be seen doing anymore. It infuriated her. Why did men have things so much easier? Like Winston. He moved the same way he handled his flintlock pistols, with a thoughtless poise. As he walked now, his shoulders were slightly forward and his broad back seemed to balance his stride. But, even more, she loved the hard rhythm of his haunches, trim and rippled with muscles. She stopped to watch as he splashed into the shallows. God forgive me, she thought, how I do adore him. What I'd most like right now is just to enfold him, to capture him in my arms. And never let . . . Good God, what am I saying? The water was deliciously cool, and it deepened quickly. Before she knew, she felt the rhythm of the waves against her thighs. "Katy, the time has come." He turned back and admired her for a second, then thumped a spray of water across her breasts. "Let's see if you really can swim." Abruptly he leaned forward, dipped one shoulder, and stroked powerfully. The curves of his body blended with the ripples as he effortlessly glided across the surface. A startled triggerfish darted past, orange in the sun. He stroked again, then yelled over his shoulder, "I'm still not sure I can always believe everything you say." "Nor I you, Hugh. Though truly you say little enough." She leaned into the water, fresh and clean against her face. She gave a kick and another stroke and she was beside him. The sea around them seemed a world apart from the bondage of convention. He was right for wanting to swim. "So today, to repay me for showing you this spot, I want you to tell me everything, all the things you've been holding back." "Unlike you, who's held nothing back? Like this island and what it means to you?" She just ignored him, the best way to handle Hugh when he was like this, and stroked again, staying even, the taste of salt on her lips. The white sands of the shoreline were gliding past now, and behind them the palms nodded lazily in the sun. Then she rolled over and kicked, drifting through the blue. He rolled over too and reached to take her hand. They slid across the surface together as one body. She was lost in the quiet and calm, almost dreaming, when she saw his face rise up. "How far can you see from those rocks up there?" He was pointing toward the craggy rise in the center of the island. "I'd like to go up after a while and have a look." "You want to know everything about this place. All at once. Is that the only thing you care about?" "Not quite." He pulled next to her. "I'll grant you've proved you can swim. And damned well." He smiled wryly. "It's doubtless a good thing to know how to do. We may all be needing to swim out of here soon, God help us." "Not a word, remember your promise." Her eyes flashed as she flung a handful of water. Then she looked past him, at the white sand and the line of green palms. "Let's go ashore for a while. That spot up there, at the trees--it's too beautiful to pass." The afternoon sun had begun to slant from the west as they waded out onto the sparkling sand, his arm circled around her waist. The breeze urged a sprightly nip against their skin. "Hugh, I love you. Truly." She leaned against him to feel his warmth. "I don't know what I should do." He was subdued and quiet as they stepped around a gleaming pile of shells. Then he stopped and quietly enfolded her in his arms. "It's only fair to tell you I've never before felt about a woman the way I feel about you." He kissed her softly. "The troubling part is, I ought to know better." He turned and led her on in silence, till they reached the shade of a low palm. She dropped down onto the grass and watched him settle beside her. A large conch shell lay nearby, like a petrified flower. She picked it up and held it toward the sun, admiring its iridescent colors, then tossed it back onto the grass and looked at him. "I meant it when I said I wanted you to tell me everything." He glanced up and traced his fingertips across the gentle curve at the tops of her white breasts. "Are you sure you want to hear it?" "Yes, I do." She thought she detected a softness in his eyes, almost a yielding. He leaned back in the grass. "I guess you think there's a lot to tell, yet somehow it all adds up to nothing. To lying here under a palm, on an empty island, with a price on my head in England and little to show for all the years." He looked out to sea and shaded his eyes as he studied a sail at the horizon. "It seems I'm something different to everybody. So which story do you want to hear?" "Why not try the real one?" She pushed him onto his back and raised on her elbow to study his face. It was certainly older than its years. "Why won't you ever tell me about what happened when you first came out here? What was it about that time that troubles you so much?" "It's not a pretty tale. Before I came, I never even thought much about the New World." He smiled at the irony of it now. "It all started when I was apprenticed and shipped out to the Caribbean for not being royalist enough." "Where to?" "Well . . ." He paused automatically, then decided to continue. "In truth it was Tortuga. Back when the Providence Company had a settlement on the island." "But wasn't that burned out by the Spaniards? We all heard about it. I thought everybody there was killed. How did you survive?" "As it happens, I'd been sort of banished by then. Since I didn't get along too well with the Puritans there, they'd sent me over to the north side of Hispaniola, to hunt. Probably saved my life. That's where I was when the Spaniards came." "On Hispaniola?" She stared at him. "Do you mean to say you were once one of . . ." "The Cow-Killers." It was said slowly and casually. He waited to see how she would respond, but there was only a brief glimmer of surprise in her eyes. "Then what some people say is true. I'd never believed it till now." She laughed. "I suppose I should be shocked, but I'm not." He smiled guardedly. "Well, in those days they only hunted cattle. Until toward the last." He paused a moment, then looked at her sharply. "But, yes, that's who I was with. However, Katy, don't credit quite everything you may hear about me from the Walronds." "But you left them. At least that tells me something about you." She held his hand lightly against her lips. The calluses along the palm were still soft from the water. "Why did you finally decide to go?" He pulled her next to him and kissed her on the mouth, twice. Then he ran his fingers down her body, across her smooth waist, till he reached the mound of light chestnut hair at her thighs. "I've never told anyone, Katy. I'm not even sure I want to tell you now." He continued with his fingertips, on down her skin. "Why won't you tell me?" She passed her hand across his chest. Beneath the bronze she could feel the faint pumping of his heart. "I want to know all about you, to have all that to think about when you're gone. We're so much alike, in so many ways. I feel I have a right to know even the smallest little things about you." "I tried to shoot one of them. One of the Cow-Killers." He turned and ripped off a blade of grass, then crumpled it in his hand and looked away. "Well, I'm sure that's not the first time such a thing has happened. I expect you had good reason. After all . . ." "The difference was who I tried to kill." He rolled over and stared up at the vacant sky. It was deep blue, flawless. "What do you mean? Who was it?" "You probably wouldn't know." He glanced at her. "Ever hear of a man who goes by the name of Jacques le Basque?" "Good God." She glanced at him in astonishment. "Isn't he the one who's been pillaging and killing Spaniards in the Windward Passage for years now? In Bridgetown they say the Spaniards call him the most bloodthirsty man in the Caribbean. I'm surprised he let you get away with it." "I didn't escape entirely unscathed." Winston laughed. "You see, he was leader of the Cow-Killers back then. I suppose he still is." "So what happened?" "One foggy morning we had a small falling out and I tried a pistol on him. It misfired." He pushed back her hair and kissed her on the cheek. "Did you know, Katy, that the sun somehow changes the color of your eyes? Makes them bluer?" She grabbed his hand and pushed him back up. "You're trying to shift the topic. I know your tricks. Don't do that with me. Tell me the rest." "What do you suppose? After I made free to kill him, he naturally returned the favor." Winston stroked the scar on his cheek. "His pistol ball came this close to taking off my head. That's when I thought it healthy to part company with him and his lads." He traced his tongue down her body and lightly probed a nipple. It blushed pink, then began to harden under his touch. "No, you don't. Not yet. You'll make me lose track of things." She almost didn't want him to know how much she delighted in the feel of his lips. It would give him too much power over her. Could she, she wondered, ever have the same power over him? She had never yet kissed him all over, the way she wanted, but she was gathering courage for it. What would he do when she did? She reached up and cradled his face in her hands. The tongue that had been circling her nipple drew away and slowly licked one of her fingers. She felt herself surrendering again, and quickly drew her hand back. "Talk to me some more. Tell me why you tried to kill him." "Who?" "The man you just said." She frowned, knowing well his way of teasing. Yes, Hugh Winston was quite a tease. In everything. "Just now. This Jacques le Basque." "Him? Why did I try to kill him?" He pecked at her nose, and she sensed a tenseness in his mouth. "I scarcely remember. It's as though the fog that moming never really cleared from my mind. As best I recall, it had something to do with a frigate." He smiled, the lines in his face softening. Then he slipped an arm beneath her and drew her next to him. Her skin was warm from the sun. "Still, days like this make up for a lot in life. Just being here. With you. Trouble is, I worry I'm beginning to trust you. More than I probably ought." "I think I trust you too." She turned and kissed him on the lips, testing their feel. The tenseness had vanished, as mysteriously as it had come. She kissed him again, now with his lips meeting hers, and she wanted to crush them against her own. Gone now, all the talk. He had won. He had made her forget herself once again. "I also love you, and I know you well enough by now to know for sure that's unwise." She moved across him, her breasts against his chest. Would he continue to hold back, to keep something to himself, something he never seemed willing--or able--to give? Only recently had she become aware of it. As she learned to surrender to him more and more fully, she had slowly come to realize that only a part of him was there for her. Then the quiet of the lagoon settled around them as their bodies molded together, a perfect knowing. He pulled her against his chest, hard, as he knew she liked to be held. And she moved against him, instinctively. She felt herself wanting him, ready for that most exquisite moment of all. She slipped slowly downward, while he moved carefully to meet her. Her soft breasts were still pillowed against his chest. She gasped lightly, a barely discernible intake of breath, and closed her eyes as she slowly received him. Her eyes flooded with delight and she rose up, till her breasts swung above him like twin bells. "This is how I want to stay. Forever." She bent back down and kissed him full on the mouth. "Say you'll never move." "Not even like this . . .?" Now the feel of her and the scent of her, as she enclosed him and worked her thighs against him, fully awoke his own desire. It had begun, that need both to give and to take, and he sensed in her an intensity matching his own. So alien, yet so alike. Gradually he became aware of a quickening of her motions against him, and he knew that, at this instant, he had momentarily ceased to exist for her; he had lost her to something deeper. She leaned closer, not to clasp him but to thrust her breasts against him, wordlessly telling him to touch the hard buds of her nipples. Then the rhythms that rippled her belly shifted downward, strong and driven. With small sounds of anticipation she again rose above him, then suddenly cried aloud and grasped his body with her hands, to draw him into her totally. This was the moment when together they knew that nothing else mattered. As he felt himself giving way to her, he felt her gasp and again thrust against him, as though to seize and hold the ecstasy that had already begun to drift beyond them. But it had been fleeting, ephemeral, and now they were once more merely man and woman, in each other's arms, amidst the sand,and gently waving palms. Finally she reached up and took his hands from her soft breasts, her eyes resigned and bewildered. He drew her to him and kissed her gently, to comfort her for that moment now lost to time. Then he lifted her in his arms and lay her against the soft grass, her body open to him. He wanted this woman, more than anything. The afternoon sky was azure now, the hue of purest lapis lazuli, and its scattering of soft white clouds was mirrored in the placid waters of the lagoon. He held her cradled in his arms, half dozing, her face warm against his chest. "Time." His voice sounded lightly against her ear. "What, darling?" "It's time we had a look around." He sat up and kissed her. "We've got to go back where we left the horses, and get our clothes and boots." He turned and gazed toward the dark outcrop of rocks that rose up from the center of the island. "Then I'd like to go up there, to try and get some idea what the shoreline looks like on the windward side." "Want to swim back?" She stared up at him, then rubbed her face against his chest. As she rose she was holding his hand and almost dancing around him. "You swim back if you like. For myself, I think I'm getting a bit old for such. What if I just walked the shore?" "Oh, you're old, to be sure. You're ancient. But mostly in your head." She grabbed his hand. "Come on." "Well, just part way." He rose abruptly, then reached over and hoisted her into his arms. He bounced her lightly, as though she were no more weighty than a bundle of cane, and laughed at her gasp of surprise. "What do you know! Maybe I'm not as decrepit as I thought." He turned and strode toward the shoreline, still cradling her against his chest. "Put me down. You're just showing off." "That's right." They were waist deep when he balanced her momentarily high above the water and gave a shove. She landed with a splash and disappeared, only to resurface sputtering. "Careful, Katy, or you'll frighten the angelfish." He ducked the handful of water she flung at him and dived head first into the sea. A moment later he emerged, stroking. "Come on then, you wanted to swim. Shall we race?" "You'll regret it." She dived after him like a dolphin and when she finally surfaced she was already ahead. She yelled back, "Don't think I'll let you win in the name of pride." He roared with laughter and moved alongside her. "Whose pride are we talking about, mine or yours?" And they swam. He was always half a length behind her, yelling that he would soon pass her, but when they reached the point along the shore even with their clothes, she was still ahead. "Now shall I carry you ashore. Captain?" She let her feet touch the sandy bottom and turned to watch him draw next to her. "You're most likely exhausted." "Damn you." He stood up beside her, breathing heavily. "No seaman ever lets himself get caught in the water. Now I know why." He seized her hand and glanced at the sun. It was already halfway toward evening. "Come on, we're wasting time. I want to reconnoiter this damned island of yours before it's too dark." She pulled him back and kissed him one last time, the waters of the lagoon still caressing them. "Hugh, this has been the loveliest day of my life. I'll remember it always." She kissed him again, and now he yielded, enfolding her in his arms. "Can we come back? Soon?" "Maybe. If you can find time amidst all your marriage negotiations." He ran his hand over her smooth buttocks, then gave her a kiss that had the firmness of finality. "But now we go to work, Katy. Come on." The horses watched them expectantly, snorting and pawing with impatience, while they dressed again. She finished drawing the laces of her bodice, then walked over and whispered to her mare. "We can take the horses if you think they could use a stretch." He gazed up toward the outcrop. "I suppose they can make it." "Coral can go anywhere you can." "Then let her prove it." He reached down and untied the hobble on his gelding's forefeet. Then he grabbed the reins and vaulted into the saddle. "Let's ride." The route up the island's center spine was dense with scrub foliage, but the horses pushed their way through. The afternoon was silent save for the occasional grunts of wild hogs in the underbrush. Before long they emerged into the clear sunshine again, the horses trotting eagerly up a grassy rise, with only a few large boulders to impede their climb. When they reached the base of the rocky outcropping that marked the edge of the plateau, he slipped from the saddle and tied his mount to a small green tree. "No horse can make that." He held Coral's reins as she dismounted. "Let's walk." Behind them now the long shore of Barbados stretched into the western horizon. The south side, toward Oistins Bay, was shielded by the hill. "This could be a good lookout post." He took her arm and helped her over the first jagged extrusion of rock. Now the path would be winding, but the way was clear, merely a steep route upward. "I'll wager you can see for ten leagues out to sea from up there at the top." "I've always wondered what Oistins looked like from here. I never got up this far before." She ran a hand fondly down the back of his jerkin. It was old and brown and sweat-encrusted. She knew now that he had fancy clothes secreted away, but he seemed to prefer things as worn and weathered as he could find. "The harbor must be beautiful this time of the afternoon." "If you know where to look upland, you might just see your Walrond gallant's plantation." He gestured off to the left. "Didn't you say it's over in that direction somewhere?" She nodded silently, relieved he hadn't said anything more. They were approaching the top now, a rocky plateau atop the rough outcrop in front of them. "Up we go, Katy." He seized a sharp protrusion and pulled himself even. Then he reached down and took her hand. She held to his grip as he hoisted her up over the last jagged rocks. "It's just like . . ." Her voice trailed off. "What?" He glanced back at her. "Oh God, Hugh! I don't believe it!" She was pointing toward the southeast, and the color had drained from her face. He whirled and squinted into the afternoon haze. At sea, under full sail with a heading of north by northeast, were eight English warships, tawny-brown against the blue Caribbean. Their guns were not run out. Instead their decks were crowded with steel- helmeted infantry. They were making directly for Oistins Bay. "The breastwork! Why aren't they firing!" He instinctively reached for the handle of the pistol in the left-hand side of his belt. "I've not heard a shot. Where's Walrond's Windward Regiment? They're just letting them land!" "Oh Hugh, how could the Windwards do this to the island? They're the staunchest royalists here. Why would they betray the rest of us?" "We've got to get back to Bridgetown, as hard as we can ride. To pull all the militia together and try to get the men down from Jamestown." "But I've heard no warnings." She watched the English frigates begin to shorten sail as they entered the bay. Suddenly she glanced down at his pistols. "What's the signal for Oistins?" "You're right." He slipped the flintlock from the left side of his belt and handed it to her. "It's four shots--two together, followed by two apart. Though I doubt there's anybody around close enough to hear." "Let's do it anyway. There's a plantation about half a mile west down the coast. Ralph Warner. He's in the Assembly." He pulled the other pistol from his belt. "Now, after you fire the first barrel, pull that little trigger there, below the lock, and the second one revolves into place. But first check the prime." "That's the first thing I did." She frowned in exasperation. "I'll wager I can shoot almost as well as you can. Isn't it time now you learned to trust me?" "Katy, after what's just happened, you're about the only person on Barbados I trust at all. Get ready." He raised the gun above his head and there was the sharp crack of two pistol shots in rapid succession. Then she quickly squeezed off the rest of the signal. She passed back the gun, then pointed toward the settlement at Oistins. "Look, do you see them? That must be some of the Windward Regiment, down by the breastwork. That's their regimental flag. They've probably come down to welcome the fleet." "Your handsome fiance seems to have sold his soul, and his honor. The royalist bastard . . ." He paused and caught her arm. From the west came two faint cracks of musket fire, then again. The signal. "Let's get back to Bridgetown as fast as these horses will take us. I'm taking command of this militia, and I'm going to have Anthony Walrond's balls for breakfast." He was almost dragging her down the incline. "Come on. It's one thing to lose a fair fight. It's something else to be cozened and betrayed. Nobody does that to me. By Christ I swear it." She looked apprehensively at his eyes and saw an anger unlike any she had ever seen before. It welled up out of his very soul. That was what really moved him. Honor. You kept your word. Finally she knew. She grasped for the saddle horn as he fairly threw her atop her horse. The mare snorted in alarm at the sudden electricity in the air. A moment later Winston was in his saddle and plunging down the brushy incline. "Hugh, let's . . . ride together. Don't . . ." She ducked a swinging limb and then spurred Coral alongside. "Why would Anthony do it? And what about Jeremy? He'll be mortified." "You'd better be worrying about the Assembly. That's your father's little creation. Would they betray him?" "Some of them were arguing for surrender. They're worried about their plantations being ruined if there's more fighting, more war." "Well, you can tell them this. There's going to be war, all right. If I have to fight with nobody helping me but my own lads." He spurred his horse onto the grassy slope that led down to the sand. Moments later the frightened horses were splashing through the shallows. Ahead was the green shore of Barbados. "By Christ, there'll be war like they've never seen. Mark it, by sunrise tomorrow this God damned island is going to be in flames." Chapter Fifteen "Your servant, sir." Anthony Walrond stood in the shadow of the Oistins breastwork, his hand resting lightly on his sword. Edmond Calvert was walking slowly up the beach from the longboat, flanked by James Powlett and Richard Morris. The hour was half past three in the afternoon, exactly as agreed. There had to be enough light to get the men and supplies ashore, and then the timely descent of darkness to shield them. "Your punctuality, I trust, portends your constancy in weightier concerns." "And yours, sir, I pray may do the same." Calvert slipped off his dark hat and lightly bowed a greeting. Then he turned and indicated the two men behind him. "You've met Vice Admiral Powlett. And I understand Colonel Morris is not entirely unknown to you." "We've had some acquaintance in times past." Walrond nodded coldly in the direction of Morris, but did not return the commander's perfunctory smile. The old hatred, born of years of fighting in England, flowed between them. "Then shall we to affairs?" Calvert turned back and withdrew a packet from his waistcoat. "The supplies we agreed on are ready. I've had my Chief Purser draw up a list for your inspection." Walrond took the papers, then glanced out toward the ships. So it's finally come to this, he thought wistfully. But, God is my witness, we truly did all any man could ask. There's no turning back now. As he thumbed open the wax seal of the packet, he noted absently that it was dated today, Friday. Had all this really come to pass since only sundown Monday, when he had first met Powlett, received the initial set of terms from Edmond Calvert, and begun negotiations? He had tried his best to counsel reason to the Assembly, he told himself, to arrange an honorable treaty that would preserve the militia. But a handful of hotheads had clamored for hopeless defiance, and prevailed. The only way to save the island now was to force it to surrender as quickly and painlessly as possible. Victory lay in living to fight another day. He gazed back at the ships of the fleet, and thought of the road that had brought them to this: the defection of his own regiment, once the finest fighting men in England, the royalist Windwards. Monday at sundown he had commandeered the back room of the Dolphin Tavern, which stood hard by the shore of Oistins Bay, and met Powlett. Through the night emissaries had shuttled terms back and forth between the tavern and the Rainbowe, berthed offshore. By the time the flagship hoisted anchor and made way for open sea at dawn, Anthony Walrond held in his hand a document signed by Edmond Calvert; it provided for the end of the blockade, the island's right to keep its arms and rule itself in local matters, and a full amnesty for all. The price, as price there must be, was an agreement to recognize the Commonwealth and the appointment of a new governor and Council by Calvert. Tuesday he had summoned a trusted coterie of his royalist officers to the Dolphin and set forth the terms. They had reviewed them one by one, debated each, then agreed by show of hands that none more favorable could reasonably be obtained. Healths were drunk to the eventual restoration of Charles II to the throne, and that night a longboat was dispatched to the _Rainbowe_, carrying a signed copy of the agreement. Wednesday, as agreed, Edmond Calvert had ordered a duplicate copy of the terms forwarded to the Assembly, indicating it was his last offer. No mention was made of the secret negotiations that had produced the document. At that meeting of the Assembly Dalby Bedford had risen to declare he would not allow his own interests to be the cause of a single new death, that he would accept the terms and resign forthwith if such was the pleasure of the Assembly--which was, he said, a democratic body that must now make its own decision whether to continue fighting or to negotiate. He next moved that the document be put to a vote. It was narrowly approved by the Assembly; an honorable peace seemed within reach. But then the fabric so carefully sewed was ripped apart. A committee was formed to draw up the statement of the Assembly's response. In an atmosphere of hot spirits and general confusion, several of the more militant members had managed to insert a new clause into the treaty: that "the legal and rightful government of this island shall remain as it is now established, by law and our own consent." The response was then carried by voice vote and sent back to Calvert, a gauntlet flung across the admiral's face. The defiant faction in the Assembly exulted and drank toasts to the destruction of any who would have peace on the original terms. That night Calvert had delivered a new message to Anthony Walrond, inviting him to join with the forces of the Commonwealth--a move, he said, that would surely induce the Assembly to show reason. With this invitation he had inserted an additional offer: he would endeavor to persuade Oliver Cromwell to restore the sequestrated estates in England of any royalist officer who consented to assist. On Thursday, Anthony held another meeting of the officers of the Windward Regiment, and they voted enthusiastically to defect to the side of the fleet. After all, they reasoned, had not an honorable peace already been refused by the extremists in the Assembly? That night he so advised Edmond Calvert, demanding as conditions a supply of musket shot and fifty kegs of musket powder. This morning just before dawn a longboat from the _Rainbowe_ had returned Calvert's reply--a signed acceptance of the terms. With feelings mixed and rueful, he had ordered an English flag hoisted above the breastwork at Oistins, the agreed-upon signal to Calvert. Then, to ensure security, he ordered that no militiaman be allowed to leave Oistins till the ships of the fleet had put in and landed their infantry. The _Rainbowe _led the eight warships that entered the bay at midafternoon. Anthony had seen Edmond Calvert mount the quarterdeck to watch as the guns in the breastwork were turned around and directed inland, part of his conditions. Then the admiral had ordered a longboat lowered and come ashore. . . . "These supplies all have to be delivered now, before dark." Anthony was still scrutinizing the list. "Or my men'll not be in the mood to so much as lift a half-pike." What matter, Calvert told himself. It's done. The Barbados landing is achieved. The island is ours. "You'll have the first load of powder onshore before sundown." He gestured toward the paper. "Your musket shot, and the matchcord, are on the _Marsten Moor_, but I think we can have the bulk off-loaded by then too." "What of the rest of the powder, sir?" Walrond squinted at the list with his good eye. "That was our main requirement. Some of these regiments had little enough to start with, and I fear we'll be needing yours if there's any fighting to be done." Good Christ. Calvert cast a dismayed look toward Morris. Had I but known how scarcely provisioned their forces were, I might well not have . . . "Well, sir. What of the powder?" Anthony's voice grew harder. "We can choose to halt this operation right now if . . ." "I've ordered ten kegs sent ashore. Surely that should be adequate for the moment. You'll have the rest by morning, my word of honor." He squinted toward the horizon. "How much time do you think we've got to deploy the infantry?" "Less than we'd hoped. We heard the signal for Oistins being sent up the coast about half an hour past." Walrond turned and followed Calvert's gaze. The sun was a fiery disc above the western horizon, an emblem of the miserable Caribbees ever reminding him of the England he had lost. "If their militia plans to meet us, they'll likely be assembling at Bridgetown right now. It's possible they'll be able to march some of the regiments tonight. Which means they could have men and cavalry here on our perimeter well before dawn." "Then we've got to decide now where the best place would be to make a stand." Calvert turned and motioned Morris forward. The commander had been watching apprehensively as his tattered troops disembarked from the longboats and waded in through the surf. "What say you, sir? Would you have us hold here at Oistins, or try to march along the coastal road toward Bridgetown while there's still some light?" Morris removed his helmet and slapped at the buzzing gnats now emerging in the evening air, hoping to obscure his thoughts. Did the admiral realize, he wondered, how exposed their men were at this very moment? Why should anyone trust the loyalties of Anthony Walrond and his royalists? It could all be a trap, intended to lure his men onshore. He had managed to muster almost four hundred infantrymen from the ships, but half of those were weak and vomiting from scurvy. Already, even with just the militia he could see, his own forces were outnumbered. If Walrond's regiments turned on them now, the entire Commonwealth force would be in peril. Could they even manage to make their way back to the ships? Caution, that's what the moment called for now, and that meant never letting the Windward Regiment, or any island militia, gain a position that would seal off their escape route. "We'll need a garrison for these men, room for their tents." He glanced carefully at Walrond. "I'm thinking it would be best for now if we kept our lads under separate command. Each of us knows his own men best." "As you will, sir." Anthony glanced back, smelling Morris' caution. It's the first mark of a good commander, he told himself, but damn him all the same. He knows as well as I we've got to merge these forces. "I propose we march the men upland for tonight, to my plantation. You can billet your officers in my tobacco sheds, and encamp the men in the fields." "Will it be ground we can defend?" Morris was carefully monitoring the line of longboats bringing his men ashore. Helmets and breastplates glistened in the waning sun. "You'll not have the sea at your back, the way you do now, should we find need for a tactical retreat." "Aye, but we'll have little else, either." Morris looked back at Calvert. "I'd have us off-load some of the ship ordnance as soon as possible. We're apt to need it to hold our position here, especially since I'll wager they'll have at least twice the cavalry mustered that these Windwards have got." "You'll not hold this island from the shores of Oistins Bay, sir, much as you might wish." Anthony felt his frustration rising. "We've got to move upland as soon as we can." "I'd have us camp here, for tonight." Morris tried to signal his disquiet to Calvert. "Those will be my orders." "Very well, sir," Walrond continued, squinting toward the Windward Regiment's cavalry, their horses prancing as they stood at attention. "And don't forget the other consideration in our agreement. The Assembly is to be given one more opportunity to accept the terms. You are obliged to draft one final communication for Bedford, beseeching him to show himself an Englishman and persuade the Assembly to let us reach an accord." "As you will, sir." Calvert turned away, biting his tongue before he said more. Keep an even keel, he told himself. There'll be time and plenty to reduce this island, Sir Anthony Walrond with it. The work's already half done. Now to the rest. After we've brought them to heel, we'll have time enough to show them how the Commonwealth means to rule the Americas. Time and plenty, may God help them all. * * * * * "Shango, can you hear me?" She knelt beside her mat, her voice pleading. How, she wondered, did you pray to a Yoruba god? Really pray? Was it the same as the Christian God? But Shango was more. He was more than just a god. He was also part of her, she knew that now. But must he always wait to be called, evoked? Must he first seize your body for his own, before he could declare his presence, work his will? Then the hard staccato sounds came again, the drums, their Yoruba words drifting up over the rooftop from somewhere in the distance and flooding her with dread, wrenching her heart. Tonight, they proclaimed, the island will be set to the torch. And the _branco _will be consumed in the fires. The men of the Yoruba, on plantations the length of the island, were ready. This was the day consecrated to Ogun, the day the fields of cane would be turned to flame. Even now Atiba was dictating final orders, words that would be repeated again and again by the drums. After the fires began, while the _branco _were still disorganized and frightened, they would attack and burn the plantation houses. No man who owned a _preto_ slave would be left alive. With all the powerful _branco_ slaveholders dead, the drums proclaimed, the white indentures would rise up and join with the Yoruba. Together they would seize the island. Oh Shango, please. She gripped the sides of the thin mattress. Make him understand. No white will aid them. To the _branco_ the proud Yoruba warriors are merely more _preto_, black and despised. Make him understand it will be the end of his dream. To rise up now will mean the slaughter of his people. And ensure slavery forever. In truth, the only one she cared about was Atiba. To know with perfect certainty that she would see him hanged, probably his body then quartered to frighten the others, was more than she could endure. His rebellion had no chance. What could he hope to do? Not even Ogun, the powerful god of war, could overcome the _branco's_ weapons and cunning. Or his contempt for any human with a trace of African blood. Atiba had hinted that he and his men would somehow find muskets. But where? This afternoon, only hours ago, she had heard another signal cross the island, the musket shots the _branco _had devised to sound an invasion alert. Following that, many groups of cavalry had ridden past, headed south. The sight of them had made her reflect sadly that Atiba and his Yoruba warriors had no horses. Afterward she had learned from the white servants that the soldiers of the Ingles fleet had again invaded the island, this time on the southern coast. This meant that all the Barbados militiamen surely must be mobilized now. Every musket on the island would be in the hands of a white. There would be no cache of guns to steal. Moreover, after the battle--regardless of who won--the soldiers of the fleet would probably help the militiamen hunt down Atiba and his men. No branco wanted the island seized by African slaves. Shango, stop them. Ogun has made them drunk for the taste of blood. But the blood on their lips will soon be their own. Slowly, sadly, she rose. She pulled her white shift about her, then reached under the mat to retrieve the small wand she had stolen from Atiba's hut. She untied the scarf she had wrapped around it and gazed again at the freshly carved wood, the double axe. Then she held it to her breast and headed, tiptoeing, down the creaking back stair. She had no choice but to go. To the one place she knew she could find Shango. "I say damn their letter." Benjamin Briggs watched as the mounted messenger from Oistins disappeared into the dark, down the road between the palms, still holding the white flag above his head. "I suppose they'd now have us fall back and negotiate? When we've got the men and horse ready to drive them into the sea." "It's addressed to me, presumably a formality. Doubtless it's meant for the entire Assembly." Bedford turned the packet in his hand and moved closer to the candles on the table. "It's from Admiral Calvert." The front room of Nicholas Whittington's plantation house was crowded with officers of the militia. There were few helmets; most of the men wore the same black hats seen in the fields. Muskets and bandoliers of powder and shot were stacked in the comer. Intermittent gusts of the night breeze washed the stifling room through the open shutters. The afternoon's mobilization had brought together less than three thousand men, half the militia's former strength. They had marched west from Bridgetown at sunset, and now they were encamped on the Whittington plantation grounds, in fields where tobacco once had grown. The plantation was a thousand acre tract lying three miles to the southwest of Anthony Walrond's lands, near the southern coast. "Well, we've got a quorum of the Assembly here." Colonel George Heathcott stepped forward, rubbing at his short beard. He was still stunned by Anthony Walrond's defection to the Roundheads. "We can formally entertain any last minute proposals they'd care to make." "I trust this time the Assembly will discern treachery when they see it," Briggs interjected. "I warned you this was likely to happen. When you lose your rights, 'tis small matter whether you hand them over or give them up at the point of a musket barrel. They're gone and that's the end of it, either way." "Aye, I'll wager there's apt to be a Walrond hand in this too, regardless who authored it. Just another of his attempts to cozen the honest men of this island." Tom Lancaster spat toward the empty fireplace. He thought ruefully of the cane he had in harvest--five hundred acres, almost half his lands, had been planted--and realized that now the fate of his future profits lay with an untrustworthy militia and the Assembly, half the voting members of which were men with fewer than a dozen acres. "He's sold the future, and liberty, of this island for forty pieces of silver." "Or for the governorship," Heathcott interjected. "Mark it." "Not so long as I've got breath." Briggs' complexion was deepening in the candlelight as he began wondering what the Commonwealth's men would do with his sugar. Confiscate it and ruin him in the bargain? "I say we fight to the last man, no matter what." Dalby Bedford finished scanning the letter and looked up. "I think we should hold one last vote. There's . . ." "What are the terms?" Briggs interrupted. "They seem to be the same. I presume he thought we might surrender, now that they've landed." Bedford hesitated. Was independence worth the killing sure to ensue if they went to war--a war that had now become planter against planter? "But it does appear he's willing to negotiate." "Then let's hear it." Briggs glanced about the room. "Though I'd have every man here remember that we've got no guarantees other than Calvert's word, and anything he consents to will still have to be approved by Parliament." "If you'll allow me, sir." Bedford motioned for quiet, then lifted a candlestick from the table and held it over the parchment. _"To the right honorable etc. "My Lord--I have formerly sent you many Invitations to persuade you to a fair compliance with that new Power which governs your Native Country, thereby preserving yourself and all the Gent, of this island from certain ruin, and this Island from that desolation which your, and their, obstinacy may bring upon it. "Although I have now been welcomed by a considerable part of the Island, with my Commission published--that being to appoint your Governor for the State of England--yet I am still the same reasonable Man as before and hold forth the same grace and favor to you I formerly did, being resolved no change of fortune shall change my nature. Thus I invite you to accept this same Commission as the others have done--in recognition that we each now possess considerable portions of this noble Island. . . ." _Briggs stepped forward. "I already see there's deceit in it. They hold Oistins, not an acre more. With the men and horse we've got . . ." "Let me read the rest." Bedford interrupted. "There're only a few lines more." He lifted the candle closer and continued. _"Therefore I am bound in Honour as well as good nature to endeavour your preservations, to which purpose I have enclosed the Articles which the Windward Regiment have accepted. If you have any Exceptions to these Articles, let me know them by your commissioners and I shall appoint fit persons to consider them. By ratifying this Negotiation you will prevent further effusion of blood, and will preserve your Persons and Estates from ruin. "If you doubt mine own power to grant these Articles, know I shall engage not only mine own but the Honour of the State of England which is as much as can be required by any rational man. And so I rest, Your Servant, Admiral Edmond Calvert" _ Briggs reached for the letter. "What's his prattle about honor, by God! This island's been betrayed by the very men who speak about it most." He gazed around at the members of the Assembly. "They've already heard our 'exceptions' and their reply was to invade. I propose we settle this with arms, and then talk of honor." "There's a threat in that letter, for all the soothing words." A grizzled Assembly member spoke up, fingering his bandolier. "Calvert's saying we're in a war against the might of England, with our own people divided." "Aye, but when you find out a dog you'd kick will bite back, you learn to stand clear of him." Briggs waved him down. He thought again of the years of profits that lay just ahead, if only English control could be circumvented. "We've but to teach Cromwell a sound lesson, and he'll let us be." "But does this dog you speak of have enough bite to drive back a full- scale invasion?" Heathcott peered around him at the other members. The dark-beamed room grew silent as his question seemed to hang in the air. No one knew the full strength of the invading forces, now that they had been merged with the Windwards. And, more importantly, whether the Barbados militia would have the stomach to meet them. "He's here, Yor Worships." At that moment a thin, wiry servant in a brown shirt appeared at the doorway. Behind him, in the hallway, another man had just been ushered in. He was hatless and wearing a powder-smeared jerkin. His face was drawn, but his eyes were intense. Hugh Winston was now in full command of the Barbados militia, commissioned by unanimous vote of the Assembly. "Your servant, Captain." Bedford nodded a greeting. "We're waiting to hear what you've managed to learn." "My lads just got back. They say the Roundheads haven't started moving upland yet. They're still encamped along the shore at Oistins, and together with the Windwards they're probably no more than a thousand strong." "By God, we can stop them after all." Briggs squinted through the candlelight. "What are they doing now? Preparing to march?" "Doesn't appear so. At least not yet. They look to be waiting, while they off-load some of the heavy ordnance from the _Marsten Moor_. Their nine-pounders. The guns have already been hoisted up on deck and made ready to bring ashore." "There you have it, gentlemen," Briggs growled. "They'd try to lull us with talk of negotiation, whilst they prepare to turn their ships' guns against our citizens." Bedford's eyes narrowed and he held up the letter. "Then what shall our answer be? For my own part, I say if we want to stay our own masters, we'll have to fight." There were grave nods among the assembled men as Bedford turned to Winston. "How does it stand with the militia?" "I'd say we've got just about all the infantry and horse we're likely to muster. I've gone ahead and issued what's left of the powder and shot." He was still standing by the doorway. "We've got to move on out tonight and deploy around their position with whatever men, horse, and cannon we can manage, lest the weather change by morning and end our mobility." He thumbed toward the east. "There're some dark clouds moving in fast, and I don't care for the looks of them. There's some wind out of the west, too, off the ocean. Though that may slow them down a bit." "What do you mean?" Briggs eyed him. "It means the bay's doubtless picked up a little chop by now, so Calvert and his officers may decide to wait till dawn to offload those heavy guns. It could give us just enough time." "Then I take it you'd have us move out now, in the dark?" Heathcott nervously peered out the window, widening the half-open shutters. "If we do, we've got a chance to deploy cannon on their perimeter, and then hit them at dawn while they're still unprepared. Before they have a chance to fortify their position with that ship ordnance. They'll have the bay at their back and no heavy guns to speak of, save what's in the breastwork." "Then I formally move that we draft a reply to this letter and send it over by one of our cavalry. Lest they mistake our resolve." Bedford's voice was hard. "And then we let Captain Winston move on out with the men." "Aye, I second the motion." Heathcott scrambled to his feet, his eyes ablaze. "Let's prepare a response right now and get on with it." "It's done." Whittington turned to a plump Irish serving girt, who had been standing agog in the kitchen doorway watching this meeting of the Barbados Assembly in her master's parlor, and ordered quill and paper to be brought from his study. "Gentlemen." Bedford quieted the buzz in the room. "I propose we say something along the lines of the following: "I have read your letter and acquainted the Council and Assembly with it, and now return their resolution to you, in which they do continue with much wondering that what is rightfully theirs by law--being the governing of this island as it presently is--should be denied them." "Aye," Briggs inteijected. "And make mention of Anthony Walrond, if you please. Lest he think we're not sensible that he's sold the island for his personal gain." "Patience, sir." Bedford gestured for quiet. "I would also add the following: "Neither hath the Treachery of one Man so far discouraged us, nor the easiness of certain others being seduced by him so much weakened us, as that We should accept a dishonorable Peace. And for the procuring of a just Peace, none shall endeavor more than the lawful Assembly of Barbados or Your Servant, Governor Dalby Bedford" "Well phrased, as I'm a Christian." Whittington gravely nodded his approval. "They can mull over it all night if they choose. But there'll be no mistaking our resolve come the morrow." Bedford called for a show of hands. Every man in the room signified approval. "Done." He quickly penned the letter, signed it with a flourish, and passed it to Whittington. "Have one of your servants call in the captain of the horse. We'll send this down to Oistins right now. He can have his man take along the safe-conduct pass Calvert sent with his letter." While Whittington rang for the servants, Bedford motioned toward Winston. "Now, Captain. You've got your approval to move the militia. I propose we all move with it." He turned once more to the room. The men were already stirring, donning bandoliers and sorting out their muskets. "This meeting of the Barbados Assembly is hereby adjourned. It may be the last we ever hold, if we don't succeed tomorrow. May God preserve democracy in the Americas. Let's all say a prayer, gentlemen, as we ride." Winston turned without a word and led the way as the group of black- hatted men moved out into the evening air. A crisp breeze had sprung up from the east, providing a cooling respite from the heat of the day. Horses neighed and pawed in the lantern light, while the night was alive with the rattle of bandoliers. He strode to a circle of men waiting by the cistern at the side of the house and called for the officers. He was passing orders to mount and ride when a buzz of confusion rose up from the direction of the Assemblymen emerging from the house. There were murmurs and pointing. "God's life, it's peculiar." Heathcott was gazing toward the north, in the direction of the upland plantations. "I've never seen anything like it." Winston turned to look. Across the horizon a dull glow flickered out of the dark. Before he had time to puzzle over what it might be, he heard a chorus of shouts from the servants' quarters at the rear of the house. "Master Whittington! There's a fire in the southern sixty. In the cane!" "Damn me!" Whittington trotted past the side of the house to look. At the base of the hill the red tongues of flame could be seen forking upward in the dark. "I was fearful something just like this might happen, what with all these careless militiamen idling about." "The militia's not camped down there, sir." Briggs had moved alongside him to look. Suddenly his eyes went wild. "God's blood! Is that another fire we're seeing there in the north!" Whittington watched the whip of flames a moment longer, as though disbelieving, and then his body seemed to come alive. "We've got to get some of these men down there and dig a break in the cane fields. Stop it before it reaches this house." "I'm more worried about it reaching our heavy ordnance." Winston gazed down the road toward the militia's encampment. "We've got to get our men and gun carriages mobilized and out of here." "I demand that some of these layabouts stay to try and save my cane." Whittington pointed toward the crowd of militiamen at the foot of the rise. "They're doubtless the one's responsible." "That little cane fire will bum itself out soon enough." Winston raised his hand. "We've got to move these men and supplies now. We can't wait around fighting cane fires." "Damn me. God damn me." Briggs' voice was shrill as he pushed his way through the crowd toward Winston. "I'm beginning to think that glow we see in the north might well be a blaze on some of _my _acres." "Well, even if it is, there's not much we can do now." "Damned if there's not." Briggs peered again at the horizon, then back at Winston. "I've got to take my men over, as quick as we can ride. Maybe we can still save it." "You'll not have a single horse, or man." Winston raised his hand. "As soon as I brief my field commanders, we're moving on Oistins. We have to be in position, with our cannon, before dawn. If we don't attack them before they've managed to offload the ordnance, we'll forfeit what little chance we've got." "Are you mad, sir? We let these fires go unattended and we could well lose everything." Briggs gazed around at the Assemblymen. "There's the looks of a conspiracy in this. It's apt to be some sort of uprising, of the indentures or maybe even these damned Africans. Which means that we've got to protect our homes." Winston watched in dismay as the assembled men began to grumble uncertainly. Several were already calling for their horses. The night took on an air of fear. "Let me tell you this, gentlemen." Winston's voice sounded above the din. "We've got but one chance to stop the invasion, and that's to move our heavy guns and militia tonight. You have to decide whether you're going to do it." "Damn me, sir, it's a matter of priorities." Briggs' voice was almost a shout. "If we're burned out, it'll take us years to rebuild. Reckoning with Parliament would be nothing compared with the effects of a fire, or a slave uprising. I'll wager there's some kind of island-wide rebellion afoot, like we had a few years back." He was untying the reins of his horse from the porch railing. "I'm riding home and taking my indentures." He glared at Winston. "The few I've got left. I've got a house and a sugar mill, and I intend to protect them." "I need that horse." Winston stood unmoving. "Tonight." "This nag belongs to me, sir." Briggs swung heavily into the saddle. "You'll get her when I'm done, not a minute before." Several of the other militiamen were nervously mounting, having realized with alarm that their own plantation houses were unprotected. Winston whirled on Bedford. "Can't we stop this? If every man here with a house to worry about abandons us, I'll have nobody save my own men. Am I expected to fight Walrond's regiment, and the Commonwealth, all by myself?" "I can't stop them." Bedford shook his head. "Maybe we can reassemble in the morning, assuming this rebellion matter can be contained." "But morning's going to be too late. By then the sea may let up, and they'll have their heavy ordnance in place." Winston felt his gut tighten as he watched the cavalry and militia begin to disperse into the night. "They'll slice us to ribbons with cannon fire if we try to storm their position then." "This is not an army. It's a militia." Bedford sighed. "No man here can be ordered to fight." "Well, you've lost it. Before you even began." He gave the governor a quick salute, then seized the reins of his gelding. The horse was still lathered from the run back from Little Island to Bridgetown. "If it's going to be every man for himself, I've got my own affairs to look to. So damned to them. And to their sugar and slaves." "Where are you going?" Bedford stared at him gloomily. "If this war's as good as lost--which it is--then I've got to get the _Defiance _afloat. As soon as I can." He vaulted into the saddle, and gave his horse the spur. "The Americas just swapped liberty for sugar. They can have it." Chapter Sixteen They had waited in the open field to watch as the moon broke above the eastern horizon, sending faint pastel shimmers through the rows of cane. The first shadow cast by the moon on this the fourth day of the Yoruba week--the day sacred to Ogun--was the signal to begin. "May Ogun be with you, son of Balogun." Tahajo, ancient and brittle as the stalks around them, bent over and brushed Atiba's dusty feet. His voice could scarcely be heard above the chorus of crickets. "Tonight, at the first coming of dark, when I could no longer see the lines in the palm of my hand, I sacrificed a cock to Ogun, as a prayer that you succeed." Atiba looked at him with surprise, secretly annoyed that Tahajo had performed the sacrifice without his knowledge. But the old man had the prerogatives of an elder. "What did the sacrifice foretell?" "I could not discern, Atiba, in truth I could not. The signs were mixed. But they seemed to hold warning." Concern showed in his aged eyes. "Know that if you do not succeed, there will be no refuge for any of us. Remember what the elders of Ife once warned, when our young men called for a campaign of war against the Fulani in the north. They declared 'The locust can eat, the locust can drink, the locust can go-- but where can the grasshopper hide?' We are like grasshoppers, my son, with no compounds or women to return to for shelter if we fail." "We will not fail." Atiba held up his new machete. Its polished iron glistened in the light of the moon. "Ogun will not turn his face from us." "Then I pray for you, Atiba." He sighed. "You are surely like the pigeon who feeds among the hawks, fearless of death." "Tonight, Tahajo, we are the hawks." "A hawk has talons." The old man looked up at the moon. "What do you have?" "We will have the claws of a leopard, of steel, before the sun returns." Atiba saluted him in traditional fashion, then turned to Obewole. The tall drummer's arms were heavy with bundles of straw, ready to be fired and hurled among the cane. "Is everything prepared?" "The straw is ready." Obewole glanced around at the expectant faces of the men as he stepped forward. "As we are. You alone have the flint." Atiba called for quiet. Next he intoned an invocation, a whisper under his breath, then circled the men and cast a few drops of water from a calabash toward the four corners of the world. "We will fire this field first." He stood facing them, proud of the determination in their faces. These men, he told himself, are among the finest warriors of Ife. Tonight the _branco _will learn how a Yoruba fights for his people. "The west wind is freshening now and it will carry the flames to the other fields, those in the direction of the rising moon. Next we will fire the curing house, where the _branco _keeps the sweet salt we have made for him with our own hands. Then we will burn his mill house. . . ." Obewole cast a nervous glance at Atiba. "The mill house shelters the great machine made of the sacred iron of Ogun. Is it wisdom to bring Shango's fire to that place, sacred to Ogun?" "You know, good Obewole, that in Ife we say, 'Do not expect to find a man wearing white cloth in the compound of a palm-oil maker.'" Atiba's face was expressionless. "Ogun's spirit is not in the mill house tonight. He is here with us." The drummer bowed in uncertain acknowledgement and turned to begin distributing the straw bundles down the line of men. The young warrior Derin was first, and he eagerly called for two. Atiba watched silently till each man had a sheaf of straw, then he intoned one last prayer. As the words died away into silence, he produced a flint and struck it against the blade of his machete. A shower of sparks flew against the bundle held by Obewole. After the brown stalks had smoldered into flame, the drummer walked slowly down the line of men and, with a bow to each, fired the rest. Serina settled the candle carefully atop the iron frame supporting the rollers, then stood for a moment studying the flickering shadows it cast across the thatched ceiling of the mill house. From the gables above her head came the chirp of crickets, mingled with the occasional night murmurs of nesting birds. The room exuded an eerie peacefulness; again it called to mind the sanctuary of whitewash and frangipani scent that had been her home in Pernambuco. Once before, the magic of this deserted mill house had transported her back to that place of long ago, back to gentle afternoons and soft voices and innocence. To the love of her Yoruba mother Dara, and the kindliness of an old _babalawo _so much like Atiba. Shango's spirit had taken her home. He had come to this place that night, and he had lifted her into his being and taken her back. And here, for the first time, she had understood his awesome power. Shango. The great, terrifying god of West Africa was now here in the Caribbees, to guard his people. One day, she told herself, even the Christians would be on their knees to him. Carefully she unwrapped the wand--its wood carved with an African woman's fertile shape, then topped with a double-headed axe--and placed it beside the candle. Atiba had made it with his own hands, and he always kept it hidden in his hut, as part of his _babalawo's _cache of sacred implements. The mill had not turned since the day the great ships of the Ingles appeared in the bay, before the night of the storm. Traces of white cassava flour were still mingled with the fine dust on the floor. The place where Atiba had drawn Shango's sign was . . . she squinted in the candlelight . . . was there, near the square comer of the iron frame. Nothing remained now of the symbol save a scattering of pale powder. But across the room, near the post by the doorway, lay the small bag of cassava flour he had used. It must, she told herself, have been knocked there during the ceremony. Perhaps it was not empty. Timorously she picked it up and probed inside. Some flour still remained, dry and fine as coral dust. As she drew out a handful and let it sift through her fingers, the idea came--almost as though Shango had whispered it to her in the dark. The drawing of the double-headed axe. Shango's sign. Had it somehow summoned him that night? Beckoned him forth from the ancient consciousness of Africa, to this puny room? She stood for a moment and tried again to breathe a prayer. What precisely had Atiba done? How had he drawn the symbol? Her legs trembling, she knelt with a handful of the white powder and carefully began laying down the first line. It was not as straight as she had wished, nor was its width even, but the flour flowed more readily than she had thought it might. The symbol Atiba had drawn was still etched in her memory. It was simple, powerful, it almost drew itself: the crossed lines, their ends joined, formed two triangles meeting at a common point, and then down the middle the bold stroke that was its handle. The drawing came into form so readily she found herself thinking that Shango must be guiding her hand, urging her on in this uncertain homage to his power. She stood away and, taking the candle, studied the figure at her feet. The white seemed to undulate in the flickering light. She held the candle a moment longer, then reached out and placed it directly in the center of the double axe-head. Perhaps it was a gust of wind, but the wick suddenly flared brighter, as though it now drew strength from the symbol it illuminated. The mill, the walls of the room, all glowed in its warm, quivering flame. Was it imagination or was the candle now giving off that same pale radiance she remembered from languorous afternoons long ago in Brazil-- the half-light of mist and rainbows that bathed their courtyard in a gossamer sheen when an afternoon storm swept overhead. She backed away, uneasy and disturbed, groping blindly toward the mill frame. When her touch caught the hard metal, she slipped her hand across the top till her grasp closed on the wand. The stone axe at its tip was strangely warm now, as though it had drawn heat from the iron. Or perhaps it had been from the candle. She clasped it against her shift, feeling its warmth flow into her. First it filled her breasts with a sensation of whiteness, then it passed downward till it mingled in her thighs. It was a sensation of being fulfilled, brought to completeness, by some essence that flowed out of Shango. She glanced back at the flickering candle. Now it washed the drawing with a glow of yellow and gold. The candle, too, seemed to be becoming part of her. She wanted to draw its fiery tip into her body, to possess it. Sweat poured down her thighs; and in its warmth she felt the desire of Shango. As she clasped the wand ever more tightly against her breasts, she gasped, then shuddered. The white presence was entering her, taking her body for its own. She sensed a heat in her eyes, as though they might now bum through the dark. A heaviness was growing in her legs, and she planted her feet wide apart to receive and support the burden she felt swelling in her breasts. The room was hot and cold and dark and light. She no longer saw anything save whiteness. Then she plunged the wand skyward and called out in a distant voice, resonant. "_E wa nibi! SHANGO_!" * * * * * The flames billowed along the edge of the field, and the crackling of the cane swelled into a roar as a carpet of red crept up the hillside. Clusters of gray rats scurried to escape, lending a chorus of high- pitched shrieks to the din. As the night breeze quickened from the west, it whipped the flames toward the dense, unharvested acres that lay beyond. Suddenly the urgent clanging of a bell sounded from the direction of the main compound, and soon after, silhouettes appeared at the perimeter of the indentures' quarters, the circle of thatched-roof huts beside the pathway leading to the sugarworks. Figures of straw-hatted women--the men were all gone away with the militia--stood out against the moonlit sky is they watched in fearful silence. Never had a fire in the fields erupted so suddenly. _Now_! Atiba wanted to shout. _Join us_! Throw off your chains. Free yourselves! He had not been able to enlist their help sooner, for fear a traitor among them might betray the revolt. But now, now they would see that freedom was within their grasp. He tried to call to them. To beckon them forward. Give me the words, Mighty Ogun. Tell me the words that will make the _branco_ slaves join us. But the prayer passed unanswered. He watched in dismay as the women began, one by one, to back away, to retreat toward their huts in awe and dread. Still, they had done nothing to try and halt the flames. So perhaps there still was hope. If they were afraid to join the rebellion, neither would they raise a hand to save the wealth of their _branco _master. Also, these were but women. Women did not fight. Women tended the compounds of warriors. When the men returned, the rebellion would begin. They would seize their chance to kill the _branco _master who enslaved them. He signaled the other Yoruba, who moved on quickly toward the curing house, where the pots of white sugar waited. The sky had taken on a deep red glow, as the low-lying clouds racing past reflected back the ochre hue of flames from fields in the south. Across the island, the men of the Yoruba had honored their vows. They had risen up. Atiba noticed the savor of victory in his mouth, that hardening of muscle when the foe is being driven before your sword, fleeing the field. It was a strong taste, dry and cutting, a taste he had known before. Something entered your blood at a moment like this, something more powerful, more commanding, than your own self. As they pushed through the low shrubs leading toward the sugarworks, he raised his hand and absently touched the three clan marks down his cheek, their shallow furrows reminding him once again of his people. Tonight, he told himself, all the men of Ife would be proud. "Atiba, son of Balogun, I must tell you my thoughts." Old Tahajo had moved forward, ahead of the others. "I do not think it is good, this thing you would have us do now." "What do you mean?" Atiba eased his own pace slightly, as though to signify deference. "A Yoruba may set fires in the forest, to drive out a cowardly foe. It is all part of war. But we do not fire his compounds, the compounds that shelter his women." "The curing house where sugar is kept is not the compound of the _branco's _women." Atiba quickened his stride again, to reassert his leadership, and to prevent the other men from hearing Tahajo's censure, however misguided. "It's a part of his fields. Together they nourish him, like palm oil and salt. Together they must be destroyed." "But that is not warfare, Atiba. That is vengeance." The old man persisted. "I have set a torch to the fields of an enemy--before you were born the Fulani once forced such a course upon us, by breaking the sacred truce during the harvest festival--but no Yoruba would deliberately burn the seed yams in his enemy's barn." "This barn does not hold his yams; it holds the fruits of our unjust slavery. The two are not the same." "Atiba, you are like that large rooster in my eldest wife's compound, who would not suffer the smaller ones to crow. My words are no more than summer wind to you." The old man sighed. "You would scorn the justice Shango demands. This is a fearsome thing you would have us do now." "Then I will bear Shango's wrath on my own head. Ogun would have us do this, and he is the god we honor tonight. It is our duty to him." He moved on ahead, leaving Tahajo to follow in silence. The thatched roof of the curing house was ahead in the dark, a jagged outline against the rosy sky beyond. Without pausing he opened the door and led the way. All the men knew the room well; standing before them were long rows of wooden molds, containers they had carried there themselves, while a _branco _overseer with a whip stood by. "These were placed here with our own hands. Those same hands will now destroy them." He looked up. "What better justice could there be?" He sparked the flint off his machete, against one of the straw bundles, and watched the blaze a moment in silence. This flame, he told himself, would exact the perfect revenge. Revenge. The word had come, unbidden. Yes, truly it was revenge. But this act was also justice. He recalled the proverb: "One day's rain makes up for many days' drought." Tonight one torch would make up for many weeks of whippings, starvation, humiliation. "Mark me well." Atiba held the burning straw aloft and turned to address the men. "These pots are the last sugar you will ever see on this island. This, and the cane from which it was made, all will be gone, never to return. The forests of the Orisa will thrive here once more." He held the flaming bundle above his head a moment longer, while he intoned a verse in praise of Ogun, and then flung it against the thatched wall behind him, where it splayed against a post and disintegrated. They all watched as the dry-reed wall smoldered in the half-darkness, then blossomed with small tongues of fire. Quickly he led them out again, through the narrow doorway and into the cool night. The west wind whipped the palm trees now, growing ever fresher. Already the flame had scaled the reed walls of the curing house, and now it burst through the thatched roof like the opening of a lush tropical flower. As they made ready to hurry on up the path toward the mill room, the drum of hoofbeats sounded through the night. Next came frantic shouts from the direction of the great house. It was the voice of Benjamin Briggs. Atiba motioned them into the shadows, where they watched in dismay as a scattering of white indentures began lumbering down the hill, toting buckets of water and shovels, headed for the burning fields. The Yoruba men all turned to Atiba, disbelieving. The male _branco _slaves had not risen up. They had come back to aid in the perpetuation of their own servitude. As Atiba watched the fire brigade, he felt his contempt rising, and his anger. Could they not see that this was the moment? But instead of turning their guns on their enemy, setting torch to his house, declaring themselves free--the _branco _slaves had cravenly done as Briggs commanded. They were no better than their women. "The _branco _chief has returned to his compound. Like him, all the _branco _masters on the island must now be trembling in fear." Atiba felt his heart sink as he motioned the men forward. Finally he understood the whites. Serina had been right. Color counted for more than slavery. Now more than ever they needed the muskets from the ship. "Quickly. We must burn the mill, then go and seize the guns. There's no time to lose." The mill house was only a short distance farther up the hill. They left the path and moved urgently through the brush and palms toward the back of the thatched building. It stood silent, waiting, a dark silhouette against the glowing horizon. "Atiba, there is no longer time for this." Obewole moved to the front of the line and glanced nervously at the darkening skies. Heavy clouds obscured the moon, and the wind had grown sharp. "We must hurry to the ship as soon as we can and seize the _branco's _guns. This mill house is a small matter; the guns are a heavy one. The others will be there soon, waiting for us." "No. This must burn too. We will melt forever the chains that enslave us." He pressed quickly up the slope toward the low thatched building. From the center of the roof the high pole projected skyward, still scorched where the lightning of Shango had touched it the night of the ceremony. "Then hurry. The flint." Obewole held out the last bundle of straw toward Atiba as they edged under the thatched eaves. "There's no time to go in and pray here." Atiba nodded and out of his hand a quick flash, like the pulse of a Caribbean firefly, shot through the dark. Shango was with her, part of her. As Serina dropped to her knees, before the drawing of the axe, she no longer knew who she was, where she was. Unnoticed, the dull glow from the open doorway grew brighter, as the fires in the cane fields beyond raged. "Shango, _nibo l'o nlo? _Shango?" She knelt mumbling, sweat soaking through her shift. The words came over and over, almost like the numbing cadence of the Christian rosary, blotting out all other sounds. She had heard nothing--not the shouts at the main house nor the ringing of the fire bell nor the dull roar of flames in the night air. But then, finally, she did sense faint voices, in Yoruba, and she knew Shango was there. But soon those voices were lost, blurred by the distant chorus of crackling sounds that seemed to murmur back her own whispered words. The air around her had grown dense, suffocating. Dimly, painfully she began to realize that the walls around her had turned to fire. She watched, mesmerized, as small flame-tips danced in circles of red and yellow and gold, then leapt and spun in pirouettes across the rafters of the heavy thatched roof. Shango had sent her a vision. It could not be real. Then a patch of flame plummeted onto the floor beside her, and soon chunks of burning straw were raining about her. Feebly, fear surging through her now, she attempted to rise. Her legs refused to move. She watched the flames in terror for a moment, and then she remembered the wand, still in her outstretched hand. Without thinking, she clasped it again to her pounding breast. As the room disappeared in smoke, she called out the only word she still remembered. "Shango!" The collapse of the burning thatched wall behind her masked the deep, sonorous crack that sounded over the hillside. "Damn me!" Benjamin Briggs dropped his wooden bucket and watched as the dark cloudbank hovering in the west abruptly flared. Then a boom of thunder shook the night sky. Its sound seemed to unleash a pent-up torrent, as a dense sheet of island rain slammed against the hillside around him with the force of a mallet. The fires that blazed in the fields down the hill began to sputter into boiling clouds of steam as they were swallowed in wave after wave of the downpour. The night grew suddenly dark again, save for the crisscross of lightning in the skies. "For once, a rain when we needed it. It'll save the sugar, by my life." He turned and yelled for the indentures to reclaim their weapons and assemble. "Try and keep your matchcord dry." He watched with satisfaction as the men, faces smeared with smoke, lined up in front of him. "We've got to round up the Africans now, and try and find out who's responsible for this. God is my witness, I may well hang a couple this very night to make an example." "I think I saw a crowd of them headed up toward the mill house, just before the rain started in." The indenture's tanned face was emerging as the rain purged away the soot. "Like as not, they were thinkin' they'd fire that too." "God damn them all. We lose the mill and we're ruined." He paused, then his voice came as a yell. "God's blood! The curing house! Some of you get over there quick. They might've tried to fire that as well. I've got a fortune in white sugar curing out." He looked up and pointed at two of the men, their straw hats dripping in the rain. "You, and you. Move or I'll have your hide. See there's nothing amiss." "Aye, Yor Worship." The men whirled and were gone. "Now, lads." Briggs turned back to the others. A half dozen men were left, all carrying ancient matchlock muskets. "Keep an eye on your matchcord, and let's spread out and collect these savages." He quickly checked the prime on his flintlock musket and cocked it. "We've got to stop them before they try to burn the main house." He stared through the rain, then headed up the hill, in the direction of the mill house. "And stay close to me. They're rampaging like a pack of wild island hogs." Something was slapping at the smoldering straw in her hair and she felt a hand caress her face, then an arm slide beneath her. The room, the mill, all were swallowed in dark, blinding smoke; now she was aware only of the heat and the closeness of the powerful arms that lifted her off the flame-strewn floor. Then there were other voices, faraway shouts, in the same musical language that she heard whispered against her ear. The shouts seemed to be directed at the man who held her, urging him to leave her, to come with them, to escape while there was time. Yet still he held her, his cheek close against her own. Slowly Atiba rose, holding her body cradled against him, and pushed through the smoke. The heat was drifting away now, and she felt the gentle spatters of rain against her face as sections of the water- soaked thatched roof collapsed around them, opening the room to the sky. The sound of distant gunfire cut through the night air as he pushed out the doorway into the dark. She felt his body stiffen, painfully, as though he had received the bullets in his own chest. But no, the firing was down the hill, somewhere along the road leading to the coast. The cold wetness of the rain, and the warmth of the body she knew so well, awoke her as though from a dream. "You must go." She heard her own voice. Why had he bothered to save her, instead of leading his own men to safety. She was nothing now. The revolt had started; they must fight or be killed. "Hurry. Before the _branco _come." As she struggled to regain her feet, to urge him on to safety, she found herself wanting to flee also. To be with him, in death as in life. If he were gone, what would there be to live for. . .? "We have failed." He was caressing her with his sad eyes. "Did you hear the thunder? It was the voice of Shango." Now he looked away, and his body seemed to wither from some grief deep within. "I somehow displeased Shango. And now he has struck us down. Even Ogun is not powerful enough to overcome the god who commands the skies." "It was because I wanted to protect you." He looked down at her quizzically. "I didn't know you were in the mill house till I heard you call out Shango's name. Why were you there tonight, alone?" "I was praying." She avoided his dark eyes, wishing she could say more. "Praying that you would stop, before it was too late. I knew you could not succeed. I was afraid you would be killed." He embraced her, then ran his wide hand through her wet, singed hair. "Sometimes merely doing what must be done is its own victory. I'll not live a slave. Never." He held her again, tenderly, then turned away. "Remember always to live and die with honor. Let no man ever forget what we tried to do here tonight." He was moving down the hill now, his machete in his hand. "No!" She was running after him, half-blinded by the rain. "Don't try to fight any more. Leave. You can hide. We'll escape!" "A Yoruba does not hide from his enemies. I will not dishonor the compound of my father. I will stand and face the man who has wronged me." "No! Please!" She was reaching to pull him back when a voice came out of the dark, from the pathway down below. "Halt, by God!" It was Benjamin Briggs, squinting through the downpour. "So it's you. I might have known. You were behind this, I'll stake my life. Stop where you are, by Jesus, or I'll blow you to hell like the other two savages who came at my men." She found herself wondering if the musket would fire. The rain was still a torrent. Then she felt Atiba's hand shove her aside and saw his dark form hurtle down the trail toward the planter. Grasping his machete, he moved almost as a cat: bobbing, weaving, surefooted and deadly. The rain was split by the crack of a musket discharge, and she saw him slip momentarily and twist sideways. His machete clattered into the dark as he struggled to regain his balance, but he had not slowed his attack. When he reached Briggs, he easily ducked the swinging butt of the musket. Then his left hand closed about the planter's throat and together they went down in the mud, to the sound of Briggs' choked yells. When she reached them, they were sprawled in the gully beside the path, now a muddy flood of water from the hill above. Atiba's right arm dangled uselessly, but he held the planter pinned against the mud with his knee, while his left hand closed against the throat. There were no more yells, only deathly silence. "No! Don't!" She was screaming, her arms around Atiba's neck as she tried to pull him away. He glanced up at her, dazed, and his grip on Briggs' throat loosened slightly. The planter lay gasping and choking in the rain. "Dara . . .!" Atiba was looking past her and yelling a warning when the butt of the matchlock caught him across the chest. She fell with him as three straw-hatted indentures swarmed over them both. "By God, I'll hang the savage with my own hands." Briggs was still gasping as he began to pull himself up out of the mud. He choked again and turned to vomit; then he struggled to his feet. "Tie the whoreson down. He's like a mad dog." "He's been shot, Yor Worship." One of the indentures was studying the blood on his hands, from where he had been holding Atiba's shoulder. "Would you have us attend to this wound?" "I shot the savage myself." Briggs glared at them. "No credit to the lot of you. Then he well nigh strangled me. He's still strong as a bull. Don't trouble with that shot wound. I'll not waste the swathing cloth." He paused again to cough and rub his throat. "He's going to have a noose around his neck as soon as the rain lets up." Briggs walked over to where Atiba lay, his arms pinned against the ground and a pike against his chest. "May God damn you, sir. I just learned you managed to burn and ruin a good half the sugar in my curing house." He choked again and spat into the rain. Then he turned back. "Would you could understand what I'm saying, you savage. But mark this. Every black on this island's going to know it when I have you hanged, you can be sure. It'll put a stop to any more of these devilish plots, as I'm a Christian." Serina felt her eyes brimming with tears. In trying to save him, she had brought about his death. But everything she had done had been out of devotion. Would he ever understand that? Still, perhaps there was time . . . "Are you well, Master Briggs?" She turned to the planter. Her cinnamon fingers stroked lightly along his throat. "Aye. And I suppose there's some thanks for you in it." He looked at her, puzzling at the wet, singed strands of hair across her face. "I presume the savage was thinking to make off with you, to use you for his carnal lusts, when I haply put a halt to the business." "I have you to thank." "Well, you were some help to me in the bargain, I'll own it. So there's an end on the matter." He glanced at Atiba, then back at her. "See to it these shiftless indentures tie him up like he was a bull. Wound or no, he's still a threat to life. To yours as well as mine." Even as he spoke, a dark shadow seemed to drop out of the rain. She glanced up and just managed to recognize the form of Derin, his machete poised above his head like a scythe. It flashed in the lantern light as he brought it down against the arm of one of the indentures holding Atiba. The straw-hatted man screamed and doubled over. What happened next was blurred, shrouded in the dark. Atiba was on his feet, flinging aside the other indentures. Then he seized his own machete out of the mud with his left hand and turned on Briggs. But before he could move, Derin jostled against him and grabbed his arm. There were sharp words in Yoruba and Atiba paused, a frozen silhouette poised above the planter. "By Christ, I'll . . ." Briggs was drawing the long pistol from his belt when Atiba suddenly turned away. The gun came up and fired, but the two Yoruba warriors were already gone, swallowed in the night. "Well, go after them, God damn you." The planter was shouting at the huddled, terrified indentures. "Not a man on this plantation is going to sleep till both those heathens are hanged and quartered." As the indentures gingerly started down the hill in the direction Atiba and Derin had gone, Briggs turned and, still coughing, headed purposefully up the pathway toward the remains of the mill room. The burned-away roof had collapsed entirely, leaving the first sugar mill on Barbados open to the rain--its wide copper rollers sparkling like new. Chapter Seventeen "Heave, masters!" Winston was waist deep in the surf, throwing his shoulder against the line attached to the bow of the _Defiance_. "The sea's as high as it's likely to get. There'll never be a better time to set her afloat." Joan Fuller stood on deck, by the bulwark along the waist of the ship, supporting herself with the mainmast shrouds as she peered down through the rain. She held her bonnet in her hand, leaving her yellow hair plastered across her face in water-soaked strands. At Winston's request, she had brought down one of her last kegs of kill-devil. It was waiting, safely lashed to the mainmast, a visible inducement to effort. "Heave . . . ho." The cadence sounded down the line of seamen as they grunted and leaned into the chop, tugging on the slippery line. Incoming waves washed over the men, leaving them alternately choking and cursing, but the rise in sea level brought about by the storm meant the _Defiance_ was already virtually afloat. Helped by the men it was slowly disengaging from the sandy mud; with each wave the bow would bob upward, then sink back a few inches farther into the bay. "She's all but free, masters." Winston urged them on. "Heave. For your lives, by God." He glanced back at John Mewes and yelled through the rain, "How're the stores?" Mewes spat out a mouthful of foam. "There's enough water and salt pork in the hold to get us up to Nevis Island, mayhaps. If the damned fleet doesn't blockade it first." He bobbed backward as a wave crashed against his face. "There's talk the whoresons could sail north after here." "Aye, they may stand for Virginia when they've done with the Caribbees. But they'll likely put in at St. Christopher and Nevis first, just to make sure they humble every freeborn Englishman in the Americas." Winston tugged again and watched the _Defiance_ slide another foot seaward. "But with any luck we'll be north before them." He pointed toward the dim mast lanterns of the English gunships offshore. "All we have to do is slip past those frigates across the bay." The men heaved once more and the weathered bow dipped sideways. Then all at once, as though by the hand of nature, the _Defiance _was suddenly drifting in the surf. A cheer rose up, and Winston pushed his way within reach of the rope ladder dangling amidships. As he clambered over the bulwark Joan was waiting with congratulations. "You did it. On my honor, I thought this rotted-out tub was beached for keeps." She bussed him on the cheek. "Though I fancy you might've lived longer if it'd stayed where it was." Mewes pulled himself over the railing after Winston and plopped his feet down onto the wet deck. He winked at Joan and held out his arms. "No kiss for the quartermaster, yor ladyship? I was workin' too, by my life." "Get on with you, you tub of lard." She swiped at him with the waterlogged bonnet she held. "You and the rest of this crew of layabouts might get a tot of kill-devil if you're lucky. Which is more than you deserve, considering how much some of you owe me already." "Try heaving her out a little farther, masters." Winston was holding the whipstaff while he yelled from the quarterdeck. "She's coming about now. We'll drop anchor in a couple of fathoms, nothing more." While the hull drifted out into the night and surf, Winston watched John Mewes kneel by the bulwark at the waist of the ship and begin to take soundings with a length of knotted rope. "Two fathoms, Cap'n, by the looks of it. What do you think?" "That's enough to drop anchor, John. I want to keep her in close. No sense alerting the Roundheads we're afloat." Mewes shouted toward the portside bow and a seaman began to feed out the anchor cable. Winston watched as it rattled into the surf, then he made his way along the rainswept deck back to the starboard gallery at the stern and shoved another large anchor over the side. It splashed into the waves and disappeared, its cable whipping against the taffrail. "That ought to keep her from drifting. There may be some maintopman out there in the fleet who'd take notice." Whereas fully half the Commonwealth's ships had sailed for Oistins Bay to assist in the invasion, a few of the larger frigates had kept to station, their ordnance trained on the harbor. "All aboard, masters. There's a tot of kill-devil waiting for every man, down by the mainmast." Winston was calling over the railing, toward the seamen now paddling through the dark along the side of the ship. "John's taking care of it. Any man who's thirsty, come topside. We'll christen the launch." The seamen sounded their approval and began to scramble up. Many did not wait their turn to use the rope ladders. Instead they seized the rusty deadeyes that held the shrouds, found toeholds in the closed gunports, and pulled themselves up within reach of the gunwales. Winston watched approvingly as the shirtless hoard came swarming onto the deck with menacing ease. These were still his lads, he told himself with a smile. They could storm and seize a ship before most of its crew managed even to cock a musket. Good men to have on hand, given what lay ahead. "When're you thinkin' you'll try for open sea?" Joan had followed him up the slippery companionway to the quarterdeck. "There's a good half-dozen frigates hove-to out there, doubtless all with their bleedin' guns run out and primed. I'll wager they'd like nothing better than catchin' you to leeward." "This squall's likely to blow out in a day or so, and when it does, we're going to pick a dark night, weigh anchor, and make a run for it. By then the Roundheads will probably be moving on Bridgetown, so we won't have a lot of time to dally about." He looked out toward the lights of the English fleet. "I'd almost as soon give it a try tonight. Damn this foul weather." She studied the bobbing pinpoints at the horizon skeptically. "Do you really think you can get past them?" He smiled. "Care to wager on it? I've had a special set of short sails made up, and if it's dark enough, I think we can probably slip right through. Otherwise, we'll just run out the guns and take them on." Joan looked back. "You could be leaving just in time, I'll grant you. There're apt to be dark days ahead here. What do you think'll happen with this militia now?" "Barbados' heroic freedom fighters? I'd say they'll be disarmed and sent packing. Back to the cane and tobacco fields where they'd probably just as soon be anyway. The grand American revolution is finished. Tonight, when the militia should be moving everything they've got up to Oistins, they're off worrying about cane fires, letting the Roundheads get set to offload their heavy guns. By the time the rains let up and there can be a real engagement, the English infantry'll have ordnance in place and there'll be nothing to meet them with. They can't be repulsed. It's over." He looked at her. "So the only thing left for me is to get out of here while I still can. And stand for Jamaica." "That daft scheme!" She laughed ruefully and brushed the dripping hair from her face. "You'd be better off going up to Bermuda for a while, or anywhere, till things cool off. You've not got the men to do anything else." "Maybe I can still collect a few of my indentures." "And maybe you'll see Puritans dancin' at a Papist wedding." She scoffed. "Let me tell you something. Those indentures are going to scatter like a flock of hens the minute the militia's disbanded. They'll not risk their skin goin' off with you to storm that fortress over at Villa de la Vega. If you know what's good for you, you'll forget Jamaica." "Don't count me out yet. There's still another way to get the men I need." He walked to the railing and gazed out into the rain. "I've been thinking I might try getting some help another place." "And where, pray, could that be?" "You're not going to think much of what I have in mind." He caught her eye and realized she'd already guessed his plan. "That's a fool's errand for sure." "Kindly don't go prating it about. The truth is, I'm not sure yet what I'll do. Who's to say?" "You're a lying rogue, Hugh Winston. You've already made up your mind. But if you're not careful, you'll be in a worse bind than this. . . ." "Beggin' yor pardon, Cap'n, it looks as if we've got a visitor." Mewes was moving up the dark companionway to the quarterdeck. He spat into the rain, then cast an uncomfortable glance toward Joan. "Mayhaps you'd best come down and handle the orders." Winston turned and followed him onto the main deck. Through the dark a white horse could be seen prancing in the gusts of rain along the shore. A woman was in the saddle, waving silently at the ship, oblivious to the squall. "Aye, permission to come aboard. Get her the longboat, John." He thumbed at the small pinnace dangling from the side of the ship. "Just don't light a lantern." Mewes laughed. "I'd give a hundred sovereigns to the man who could spark up a candle lantern in this weather!" Winston looked up to see Joan slowly descending the companionway from the quarterdeck. They watched in silence as the longboat was lowered and oarsmen began rowing it the few yards to shore. "Well, this is quite a sight, if I may say." Her voice was contemptuous as she broke the silence. Suddenly she began to brush at her hair, attempting to straighten out the tangles. "I've never known 'her ladyship' to venture out on a night like this. . . ." She turned and glared at Winston. "Though I've heard talk she managed to get herself aboard the _Defiance _once before in a storm." "You've got big ears." "Enough to keep track of your follies. Do you suppose your lads don't take occasion to talk when they've a bit of kill-devil in their bellies? You should be more discreet, or else pay them better." "I pay them more than they're worth now." "Well, they were most admirin' of your little conquest. Or was the conquest hers?" "Joan, why don't you just let it rest?" He moved to the railing at midships and reached down to help Katherine up the rope ladder. "What's happened? This is the very devil of a night. . . ." "Hugh . . ." She was about to throw her arms around him when she noticed Joan. She stopped dead still, then turned and nodded with cold formality. "Your servant . . . madam." "Your ladyship's most obedient . . ." Joan curtsied back with a cordiality hewn from ice. They examined each other a moment in silence. Then Katherine seemed to dismiss her as she turned back to Winston. "Please. Won't you come back and help? just for tonight?" He reached for her hand and felt it trembling. "Help you? What do you mean?" His voice quickened. "Don't tell me the Roundheads have already started marching on Bridgetown." "Not that we know of. But now that the rain's put out the cane fires, a few of the militia have started regrouping. With their horses." She squeezed his hand in her own. "Maybe we could still try an attack on the Oistins breastwork at dawn." "You don't have a chance. Now that the rains have begun, you can't move up any cannon. The roads are like rivers. But they've got heavy ordnance. The Roundheads have doubtless got those cannons in the breastwork turned around now and covering the road. If we'd have marched last evening, we could've moved up some guns of our own, and then hit them at first light. Before they expected an attack. But now it's too late." He examined her sadly. Her face was drawn and her hair was plastered against her cheeks. "It's over, Katy. Barbados is lost." "But you said you'd fight, even if you had nobody but your own men." "Briggs and the rest of them managed to change my mind for me. Why should I risk anything? They won't." She stood unmoving, still grasping his hand. "Then you're really leaving?" "I am." He looked at her. "I still wish you'd decide to go with me. God knows . . ." Suddenly she pulled down his face and kissed him on the lips, lingering as the taste of rain flooded her mouth. Finally she pulled away. "I can't think now. At least about that. But for God's sake please help us tonight. Let us use those flintlocks you've got here on the ship. They're dry. The Roundhead infantry probably has mostly matchlocks, and they'll be wet. With your muskets maybe we can make up for the difference in our numbers." He examined her skeptically. "Just exactly whose idea is this, Katy?" "Who do you suppose? Nobody else knows you've got them." "Anthony Walrond knows." Winston laughed. "I'll say one thing. It would be perfect justice." "Then use them to arm our militia. With your guns, maybe--" "I'll be needing those flintlocks where I'm going." Joan pushed forward with a scowl. "Give me leave to put you in mind, madam, that those muskets belong to Hugh. Not to the worthless militia on this island." She turned on Winston. "Don't be daft. You give those new flintlocks over to the militia and you'll never see half of them again. You know that as well as I do." He stood studying the locked fo'c'sle in silence. "I'll grant you that. I'd be a perfect fool to let the militia get hold of them." "Hugh, what happened to all your talk of honor?" Katherine drew back. "I thought you were going to fight to the last." "I told you . . ." He paused as he gazed into the rain for a long moment. Finally he looked back. "I'd say there is one small chance left. If we went in with a few men, before it gets light, maybe we could spike the cannon in the breastwork. Then at least it would be an even battle." "Would you try it?" He took her hand, ignoring Joan's withering glare. "Maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond a little farewell party. In appreciation for his selling this island, and me with it, to the God damned Roundheads." "Then you'll come?" "How about this? If I can manage to get some of my lads over to Oistins before daybreak, we might try paying them a little surprise." He grinned. "It would be good practice for Jamaica." "Then stay and help us fight. How can we just give up, when there's still a chance? They can't keep up their blockade forever. Then we'll be done with England, have a free nation here. . . ." He shook his head in resignation, then turned up his face to feel the rain. He stood for a time, the two women watching him as the downpour washed across his cheeks. "There's no freedom on this island anymore. There may never be again. But maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond and his Windwards a lesson in honor." He looked back. "All right. But go back up to the compound. You'd best stay clear of this." Before she could respond, he turned and signaled toward Mewes. "John. Unlock the muskets and call all hands on deck." Dalby Bedford was standing in the doorway of the makeshift tent, peering into the dark. He spotted Winston, trailed by a crowd of shirtless seamen walking up the road between the rows of rain-whipped palms. "God's life. Is that who it looks to be?" "What the plague! The knave had the brass to come back?" Colonel George Heathcott pushed his way through the milling crowd of militia officers and moved alongside Bedford to stare. "As though we hadn't enough confusion already." The governor's plumed hat and doublet were soaked. While the storm had swept the island, he had taken command of the militia, keeping together a remnant of men and officers. But now, only two hours before dawn, the squall still showed no signs of abating. Even with the men who had returned, the ranks of the militia had been diminished to a fraction of its former strength--since many planters were still hunting down runaways, or had barricaded themselves and their families in their homes for safety. Several plantation houses along the west coast had been burned, and through the rain random gunfire could still be heard as slaves were being pursued. Though the rebellion had been routed, a few pockets of Africans, armed with machetes, remained at large. The recapture of the slaves was now merely a matter of time. But that very time, Bedford realized, might represent the difference between victory and defeat. "Those men with him are all carrying something." Heathcott squinted through the rain at the line of men trailing after Winston. "By God, I'd venture those could be muskets. Maybe he's managed to locate a few more matchlocks for us." He heaved a deep breath. "Though they'll be damned useless in this rain." "Your servant, Captain." Bedford bowed lightly as Winston ducked under the raised flap at the entrance of the lean-to shelter. "Here to join us?" "I thought we might come back over for a while." He glanced around at the scattering of officers in the tent. "Who wants to help me go down to the breastwork and see if we can spike whatever guns they've got? If we did that, maybe you could muster enough men to try storming the place when it gets light." "You're apt to be met by five hundred men with pikes, sir, and Anthony Walrond at their head." Heathcott's voice was filled with dismay. "Three or four for every one we've got. We don't have the men to take and hold that breastwork now, not till some more of the militia get back." "If those guns aren't spiked by dawn, you'd as well just go ahead and surrender and have done with it." He looked around the tent. "Mind if I let the boys come in out of the rain to prime their muskets?" "Muskets?" Heathcott examined him. "You'll not be using matchlocks, not in this weather. I doubt a man could keep his matchcord lit long enough to take aim." "I sure as hell don't plan to try taking the breastwork with nothing but pikes." Winston turned and gestured for the men to enter the tent. Dick Hawkins led the way, unshaven, shirtless, and carrying two oilcloth bundles. After him came Edwin Spurre, cursing the rain as he set down two bundles of his own. Over a dozen other seamen followed. "This tent is for the command, sir." Heathcott advanced on Winston. "I don't know what authority you think you have to start bringing in your men." "We can't prime muskets in the rain." "Sir, you're no longer in charge here, and we've all had quite . . ." His glance fell on the bundle Spurre was unwrapping. The candle lantern cast a golden glow over a shiny new flintlock. The barrel was damascened in gold, and the stock was fine Italian walnut inlaid with mother of pearl. Both the serpentine cock and the heel plate on the stock were engraved and gilt. "Good God, where did that piece come from?" "From my personal arsenal." Winston watched as Spurre slipped out the ramrod and began loading and priming the flintlock. Then he continued, "These muskets don't belong to your militia. They're just for my own men, here tonight." "If you can keep them dry," Heathcott's voice quickened, "maybe you could . . ." "They should be good for at least one round, before the lock gets damp." Winston turned to Heathcott. "They won't be expecting us now. So if your men can help us hold the breastwork while we spike those cannon, we might just manage it." "And these guns?" Heathcott was still admiring the muskets. "We won't use them any more than we have to." Winston walked down the line of officers. "There's apt to be some hand-to-hand fighting if their infantry gets wind of what's afoot and tries to rush the emplacement while we're still up there. How many of your militiamen have the stomach for that kind of assignment?" The tent fell silent save for the drumbeat of rain. The officers all knew that to move on the breastwork now would be the ultimate test of their will to win. The question on every man's mind was whether their militia still possessed that will. But the alternative was most likely a brief and ignominious defeat on the field, followed by unconditional surrender. They gathered in a huddle at the rear of the tent, a cluster of black hats, while Winston's men continued priming the guns. "Damn'd well-made piece, this one." Edwin Spurre was admiring the gilded trigger of his musket. "I hope she shoots as fine as she feels." He looked up at Winston. "I think we can keep the powder pan dry enough if we take care. They've all got a cover that's been specially fitted." Winston laughed. "Only the best for Sir Anthony. Let's make sure he finds out how much we appreciate the gun-1 smithing he paid for." "It's a risk, sir. Damned if it's not." Heathcott broke from the huddle and approached Winston. "But with these flintlocks we might have an advantage. They'll not be expecting us now. Maybe we can find some men to back you up." "We could use the help. But I only want volunteers." Winston surveyed the tent. "And they can't be a lot of untested farmers who'll panic and run if the Roundheads try and make a charge." "Well and good." Bedford nodded, then turned to Heathcott. "I'll be the first volunteer. We're running out of time." Winston reached for a musket. "Then let's get on with it." * * * * * Rain now, all about them, engulfing them, the dense Caribbean torrent that erases the edge between earth, sky, and sea. Winston felt as though they were swimming in it, the gusts wet against his face, soaking through his leather jerkin, awash in his boots. The earth seemed caught in a vast ephemeral river which oscillated like a pendulum between ocean and sky. In the Caribbees this water from the skies was different from anywhere else he had ever known. The heavens, like a brooding deity, first scorched the islands with a white-hot sun, then purged the heat with warm, remorseless tears. Why had he come back to Oistins? To chance his life once more in the service of liberty? The very thought brought a wry smile. He now realized there would never be liberty in this slave-owning corner of the Americas. Too much wealth was at stake for England to let go of this shiny new coin in Cromwell's exchequer. The Puritans who ruled England would keep Barbados at any cost, and they would see to it that slavery stayed. No. Coming back now was a personal point. Principle. If you'd go back on your word, there was little else you wouldn't scruple to do as well. Maybe freedom didn't have a chance here, but you fought the fight you were given. You didn't betray your cause, the way Anthony Walrond had. "There look to be lighted linstocks up there, Cap'n. They're ready." Edwin Spurre nodded toward the tall outline of the breastwork up ahead. It was a heavy brick fortification designed to protect the gun emplacements against cannon fire from the sea. The flicker of lantern light revealed that the cannon had been rolled around, directed back toward the roadway, in open view. "We've got to see those linstocks are never used." He paused and motioned for the men to circle around him. Their flintlocks were still swathed in oilcloth. "We need to give them a little surprise, masters. So hold your fire as long as you can. Anyway, we're apt to need every musket if the Windwards realize we're there and try to counterattack." "Do you really think we can get up there, Cap'n?" Dick Hawkins carefully set down a large brown sack holding spikes, hammers, and grapples--the last used for boarding vessels at sea. "It's damned high." "We're going to have to circle around and try taking it from the sea side, which is even higher. But that way they won't see us. Also, we can't have bandoliers rattling, so we've got to leave them here. Just take a couple of charge-holders in each pocket. There'll not be time for more anyway." He turned and examined the heavy brick of the breastwork. "Now look lively. Before they spot us." Hawkins silently began lifting out the grapples--heavy barbed hooks that had been swathed with sailcloth so they would land soundlessly, each with fifty feet of line. Winston picked one up and checked the wrapping on the prongs. Would it catch and hold? Maybe between the raised battlements. He watched as Hawkins passed the other grapples among the men, eighteen of them all together. Then they moved on through the night, circling around toward the seaward wall of the fortification. Behind them the first contingent of volunteers from the Barbados militia waited in the shadows. As soon as the gunners were overpowered by Winston's men, they would advance and help hold the breastwork while the guns were being spiked. In the rainy dark neither Winston nor his Seamen noticed the small band of men, skin black as the night, who now edged forward silently through the shadows behind them. They had arrived at the _Defiance _earlier that evening, only to discover it afloat, several yards at sea. Then they had watched in dismay as Winston led a band of seamen ashore in longboats, carrying the very muskets they had come to procure. Could it be the guns were already primed and ready to fire? Prudently Atiba had insisted they hold back. They had followed through the rain, biding their time all the five-mile trek to Oistins. Then they had waited patiently while Winston held council with the _branco _chiefs. Finally they had seen the muskets being primed . . . which meant they could have been safely seized all along! But now time was running out. How to take the guns? It must be done quickly, while there still was dark to cover their escape into hiding. Atiba watched as Winston and the men quietly positioned themselves along the seaward side of the breastwork and began uncoiling the lines of their grapples. Suddenly he sensed what was to happen next. Perhaps now there was a way to get the guns after all. . . . "Wait. And be ready." He motioned the men back into the shadows of a palm grove. Then he darted through the rain. Winston was circling the first grapple above his head, intended for the copestone along the top of the breastwork, when he heard a quiet Portuguese whisper at his ear. "You will not succeed, senhor. The Ingles will hear your hooks when they strike against the stone." "What the pox!" He whirled to see a tall black man standing behind him, a machete in his hand. "A life for a life, senhor. Was that not what you said?" Atiba glanced around him. The seamen stared in wordless astonishment. "Do you wish to seize the great guns atop this fortress? Then let my men do it for you. This is best done the Yoruba way." "Where the hell did you come from?" Winston's whisper was almost drowned in the rain. "From out of the dark. Remember, my skin is black. Sometimes that is an advantage, even on an island owned by the white Ingles." "Briggs will kill you if he catches you here." Atiba laughed. "I could have killed him tonight, but I chose to wait. I want to do it the Ingles way. With a musket." He slipped the machete into his waistwrap. "I have come to make a trade." "What do you mean?" "Look around you." Atiba turned and gestured. Out of the palms emerged a menacing line of black men, all carrying cane machetes. "My men are here. We could kill all of you now, senhor, and simply take your muskets. But you once treated me as a brother, so I will barter with you fairly, as though today were market day in Ife. I and my men will seize this branco fortress and make it an offering of friendship to you--rather than watch you be killed trying to take it yourself--in trade for these guns." He smiled grimly. "A life for a life, do you recall?" "The revolt you started is as good as finished, just like I warned you would happen." Winston peered through the rain. "You won't be needing any muskets now." "Perhaps it is over. But we will not die as slaves. We will die as Yoruba. And many branco will die with us." "Not with my flintlocks, they won't." Winston examined him and noticed a dark stain of blood down his shoulder. Atiba drew out his machete again and motioned the other men forward. "Then see what happens when we use these instead." He turned the machete in his hand. "It may change your mind." Before Winston could reply, he turned and whispered a few brisk phrases to the waiting men. They slipped their machetes into their waistwraps and in an instant were against the breastwork, scaling it. As the seamen watched in disbelief, a host of dark figures moved surely, silently up the sloping stone wall of the breastwork. Their fingers and toes caught the crevices and joints in the stone with catlike agility as they moved toward the top. "God's blood, Cap'n, what in hell's this about?" Dick Hawkins moved next to Winston, still holding a grapple and line. "Are these savages . . .?" "I'm damned if I know for sure. But I don't like it." His eyes were riveted on the line of black figures now blended against the stone of the breastwork. They had merged with the rain, all but invisible. In what seemed only moments, Atiba had reached the parapet along the top of the breastwork, followed by his men. For an instant Winston caught the glint of machetes, reflecting the glow of the lighted linstocks, and then nothing. "By God, no. There'll be no unnecessary killing." He flung his grapple upward, then gestured at the men. "Let's go topside, quick!" The light clank of the grapple against the parapet was lost in the strangled cries of surprise from atop the breastwork. Then a few muted screams drifted down through the rain. The sounds died away almost as soon as they had begun, leaving only the gentle pounding of rain. "It is yours, senhor." The Portuguese words came down as Atiba looked back over the side. "But come quickly. One of them escaped us. I fear he will sound a warning. There will surely be more _branco_, soon." "Damn your eyes." Winston seized the line of his grapple, tested it, and began pulling himself up the face of the stone wall. There was the clank of grapples as the other men followed. The scene atop the breastwork momentarily took his breath away. All the infantrymen on gunnery duty had had their throats cut, their bodies now sprawled haphazardly across the stonework. One gunner was even slumped across the breech of a demi-culverin, still clasping one of the lighted linstocks, its oil-soaked tip smoldering inconclusively in the rain. The Yoruba warriors stood among them, wiping blood from their machetes. "Good Christ!" Winston exploded and turned on Atiba. "There was no need to kill all these men. You just had to disarm them." "It is better." Atiba met his gaze. "They were _branco _warriors. Is it not a warrior's duty to be ready to die?" "You bloodthirsty savage." Atiba smiled. "So tell me, what are these great Ingles guns sitting all around us here meant to do? Save lives? Or kill men by the hundreds, men whose face you never have to see? My people do not make these. So who is the savage, my Ingles friend?" "Damn you, there are rules of war." "Ah yes. You are civilized." He slipped the machete into his waistwrap. "Someday you must explain to me these rules you have for civilized killing. Perhaps they are something like the 'rules' your Christians have devised to justify making my people slaves." Winston looked at him a moment longer, then at the bodies lying around them. There was nothing to be done now. Best to get on with disabling the guns. "Dick, haul up that sack with the spikes and let's make quick work of this." "Aye." Hawkins seized the line attached to his waist and walked to the edge of the parapet. At the other end, resting in the mud below, was the brown canvas bag containing the hammers and the spikes. Moments later the air rang with the sound of metal against metal, as the seamen began hammering small, nail-like spikes into the touch-holes of each cannon. That was the signal for the Barbados militiamen to advance from the landward side of the breastwork, to provide defensive cover. "A life for a life, senhor." Atiba moved next to Winston. "We served you. Now it is time for your part of the trade." "You're not getting any of my flintlocks, if that's what you mean." "Don't make us take them." Atiba dropped his hand to the handle of his machete. "And don't make my boys show you how they can use them." Winston stood unmoving. "There's been killing enough here tonight." "So you are not, after all, a man who keeps his word. You are merely another _branco_." He slowly began to draw the machete from his belt. "I gave you no 'word.' And I wouldn't advise that . . ." Winston pushed back the side of his wet jerkin, clearing the pistols in his belt. Out of the dark rain a line of Barbados planters carrying homemade pikes came clambering up the stone steps. Colonel Heathcott was in the lead. "Good job, Captain, by my life." He beamed from under his gray hat. "We heard nary a peep. But you were too damned quick by half. Bedford's just getting the next lot of militia together now. He'll need . . ." As he topped the last step, he stumbled over the fallen body of a Commonwealth infantryman. A tin helmet clattered across the stonework. "God's blood! What . . ." He peered through the half-light at the other bodies littering the platform, then glared at Winston. "You massacred the lads!" "We had some help." Heathcott stared past Winston, noticed Atiba, and stopped stone still. Then he glanced around and saw the cluster of Africans standing against the parapet, still holding machetes. "Good God." He took a step backward and motioned toward his men. "Form ranks. There're runaways up here. And they're armed." "Careful . . ." Before Winston could finish, he heard a command in Yoruba and saw Atiba start forward with his machete. "No, by God!" Winston shouted in Portuguese. Before Atiba could move, he was holding a cocked pistol against the Yoruba's cheek. "I said there's been enough bloodshed. Don't make me kill you to prove it." In the silence that followed there came a series of flashes from the dark down the shore, followed by dull pops. Two of the planters at the top of the stone steps groaned, twisted, and slumped against the stonework with bleeding flesh wounds. Then a second firing order sounded through the rain. It carried the unmistakable authority of Anthony Walrond. "On the double, masters. The fireworks are set to begin." Winston turned and shouted toward the seamen, still hammering in the spikes. "Spurre, get those flintlocks unwrapped and ready. It looks like Walrond has a few dry muskets of his own." "Aye, Cap'n." He signaled the seamen who had finished their assigned tasks to join him, and together they took cover against the low parapet on the landward side of the breastwork. Heathcott and the planters, pikes at the ready, nervously moved behind them. Winston felt a movement and turned to see Atiba twist away. He stepped aside just in time to avoid the lunge of his machete--then brought the barrel of the pistol down hard against the side of his skull. The Yoruba groaned and staggered back against the cannon nearest them. As he struggled to regain his balance, he knocked aside the body of the Commonwealth infantryman who lay sprawled across its barrel, the smoldering linstock still in his dead grasp. The man slid slowly down the wet side of the culverin, toward the breech. Finally he tumbled forward onto the stonework, releasing his grasp on the handle of the lighted linstock. Later Winston remembered watching in paralyzed horror as the linstock clattered against the breech of the culverin, scattering sparks. The oil-soaked rag that had been its tip seemed to disintegrate as the handle slammed against the iron, and a fragment of burning rag fluttered against the shielded touch hole. A flash shattered the night, as a tongue of flame torched upward. For a moment it illuminated the breastwork like midday. In the stunned silence that followed there were yells of surprise from the far distance, in the direction of the English camp. No one had expected a cannon shot. Moments later, several rounds of musket fire erupted from the roadway below. The approaching Barbados militiamen had assumed they were being fired on from the breastwork. But now they had revealed their position. Almost immediately their fire was returned by the advance party of the Windward Regiment. Suddenly one of the Yoruba waiting at the back of the breastwork shouted incomprehensibly, broke from the group, and began clambering over the parapet. There were more yells, and in moments the others were following him. Atiba, who had been knocked sprawling by the cannon's explosion, called for them to stay, but they seemed not to hear. In seconds they had vanished over the parapet and into the night. "You betrayed us, senhor." He looked up at Winston. "You will pay for it with your life." "Not tonight I won't." Winston was still holding the pistol, praying it was not too wet to fire. "Not tonight. But soon." He shoved the machete unsteadily into his waistwrap. Winston noticed that he had difficulty rising, but he managed to pull himself up weakly. Then his strength appeared to revive. "Our war is not over." Amid the gunfire and confusion, he turned and slipped down the landward side of the breastwork. Winston watched as he disappeared into the rain. "How many more left to spike, masters?" He yelled back toward the men with the hammers. As he spoke, more musket fire sounded from the plain below. "We've got all but two, Cap'n." Hawkins shouted back through the rain. "These damned little demi-culverin. Our spikes are too big." "Then the hell with them. We've done what we came to do." He motioned toward Heathcott. "Let's call it a night and make a run for it. Now." "Fine job, I must say." Heathcott was smiling broadly as he motioned the cringing planters away from the wall. "We'll hold them yet." While the seamen opened sporadic covering fire with their flintlocks, the militia began scrambling down the wet steps. When the column of Walrond's Windward Regiment now marching up from the seaside realized they were armed, it immediately broke ranks and scattered for cover. In moments Winston and Heathcott were leading their own men safely up the road toward the camp. They met the remainder of the Barbados militia midway, a bedraggled cluster in the downpour. "You can turn back now, sirs." Heathcott saluted the lead officer, who was kneeling over a form fallen in the sand. "You gave us good cover when we needed you, but now it's done. The ordnance is spiked. At sunup we'll drive the Roundheads back into the sea." "Good Christ." The officer's voice was trembling as he looked up, rain streaming down his face. "We'd as well just sue for peace and have done with it." "What?" Heathcott examined him. "What do you mean?" "He was leading us. Dalby Bedford. The Windwards caught him in the chest when they opened fire." He seemed to choke on his dismay. "The island's no longer got a governor." Chapter Eighteen Above the wide hilltop the mid-morning rain had lightened momentarily to fine mist, a golden awning shading the horizon. A lone figure, hatless and wearing a muddy leather jerkin, moved slowly up the rutted path toward the brick compound reserved for the governor of Barbados. Behind him lay the green-mantled rolling hills of the island; beyond, shrouded in drizzle and fog, churned the once-placid Caribbean. The roadway was strewn with palm fronds blown into haphazard patterns by the night's storm, and as he walked, a new gust of wind sang through the trees, trumpeting a mournful lament. Then a stripe of white cut across the new thunderheads in the west, and the sky started to darken once again. More rain would be coming soon, he told himself, yet more storm that would stretch into the night and mantle the island and sea. He studied the sky, wistfully thinking over what had passed. Would that the squalls could wash all of it clean, the way a downpour purged the foul straw and offal from a cobblestone London street. But there was no making it right anymore. Now the only thing left was to try and start anew. In a place far away. Would she understand that? The gate of the compound was secured and locked, as though to shut out the world beyond. He pulled the clapper on the heavy brass bell and in its ring heard a foreboding finality. "Sir?" The voice from inside the gate was nervous, fearful. He knew it was James, the Irish servant who had been with Katherine and the governor for a decade. "Miss Bedford." "By the saints, Captain Winston, is that you, sir? The mistress said you'd gone back over to Oistins." "I just came from there." "How's the fighting?" The voice revealed itself as belonging to a short, thin-haired man with watery eyes. "We've not heard from His Excellency since he sent that messenger down last night. Then after that Mistress . . ." "Just take me to Miss Bedford." He quickly cut off what he realized could grow into an accounting of the entire household for the past fortnight. How do I go about telling her, he asked himself. That it's the end of everything she had, everything she hoped for. That there's no future left here. "Is she expecting you, Captain?" James' eyes narrowed as he pushed wide the heavy wooden door leading into the hallway. "I pray nothing's happened to . . ." "She's not expecting me. Just tell her I've come." "Aye, Your Worship, as you please." He indicated a chair in the reception room, then turned to head off in the direction of the staircase. Katherine was already advancing down the wide mahogany steps. She was dressed in a calico bodice and full skirt, her hair bunched into moist ringlets of its own making. Her bloodshot eyes told Winston she had not slept. "Hugh, what is it? Why have you come back?" She searched his face in puzzlement. Then her eyes grew wild. "Oh God, what's happened?" She stumbled down the rest of the steps. "Tell me." "Katy, there was some shooting . . ." And he told her, first that Dalby Bedford was dead, then how it happened. Next he explained that, since the island no longer had a seated governor, the Assembly had elected to accept in full the terms set forth by the admiral of the fleet. He told it as rapidly as he could, hoping somehow to lessen the pain. She listened calmly, her face betraying no emotion. Finally she dropped into a tall, bulky chair, and gazed around for a moment, as though bidding farewell to the room. "Maybe it's better this way after all." She looked down. "Without the humiliation of the Tower and a public trial by Cromwell." Winston watched her, marveling. There still was no hint of a tear. Nothing save her sad eyes bespoke her pain as she continued, "It's ironic, isn't it. Both of them. My mother, years ago, and now . . . Killed by a gun, when all they ever wanted for the world was peace." She tried to smile. "These are dangerous times to be about in the Americas, Captain. You're right to always keep those flintlocks in your belt." She turned away, and he knew she was crying. The servants had gathered, James and the two women, huddled by the staircase, unable to speak. "Katy, I came as soon as I could to tell you. God only knows what's to happen now, but you can't stay here. They'll figure out in no time you've had a big hand in this. You'll likely be arrested." "I'm not afraid of them, or Cromwell himself." She was still gazing at the wooden planks of the floor. "Well, you ought to be." He walked over and knelt down next to her chair. "It's over. These planters we were fighting for gave the island away, so I say damned to them. There's more to the Americas than Barbados." He paused, and finally she turned to gaze at him. There were wet streaks down her cheeks. "Maybe now you'll come with me. We'll make a place somewhere else." She looked into his eyes and silently bit her lip. It was almost as though he had never truly seen her till this moment. His heart went out to her as he continued, "I want you with me. There's another island, Katy, if you're willing to try and help me take it." "I don't . . ." She seemed unsure what she wanted to say. She looked at him a moment longer, then around at the room, the servants. Finally she gazed down again, still silent. "Katy, I can't make you come. Nor can I promise it'll be easy. But you've got to decide now. There's no time to wait for . . . anything. We've both got to get out of here. I'm going to collect as many of my indentures as possible, then try and run the blockade tonight--rain, storm, no matter. Who knows if I'll make it, but it's my only hope." He rose to his feet. His muddy boots had left dark traces on the rug. "It's yours too, if you want it. Surely you know that." Her voice came like a whisper as she looked up. "We tried, didn't we? Truly we did." "You can't give liberty to the Americas if these Puritans only want it for themselves. It's got to be for everybody. . . . Remember what I said? They could have freed the Africans, in return for help, and they might have won. If I ever doubted that, God knows I don't anymore, not after what I saw last night. But they wanted slaves, and there's no mobilizing an island that's only half free. So they got what they deserve." He walked to the sideboard. A flask of brandy was there, with glasses; he lifted the bottle and wearily poured himself a shot. Then he turned and hoisted the glass. "We gave it our best, but we couldn't do it alone. Not here." He drank off the liquor and poured in more. "Give me some of that." She motioned toward the bottle. He quickly filled another glass and placed it in her hands. The servants watched, astonished, as she downed it in one gulp, then turned back to Winston. "How can I go just yet? There're his papers here, everything. What he did mustn't just be forgotten. He created a democratic nation, an Assembly, all of it, here in the Americas. Someday . . ." "Nobody gives a damn about that anymore." He strode over with the flask and refilled her glass. "You've got to get out of here. This is the first place they're apt to look for you. You can stay at Joan's place till we're ready to go." "Joan?" She stared at him, disbelieving. "You mean Joan Fuller?" "She's the only person left here I trust." "She despises me. She always has." "No more than you've despised her. So make an end on it." "I . . ." "Katy, there's no time to argue now. The damned Roundheads are going to be in Bridgetown by dark. I've got to go down to the ship, before the rain starts in again, and sort things out. We've got to finish lading and get ready to weigh anchor before it's too late." He watched as she drank silently from the glass, her eyes faraway. Finally he continued, "If you want, I'll send Joan to help you pack up." He emptied the second glass of brandy, then set it back on the sideboard. When he turned back to her, he was half smiling. "I suppose I've been assuming you're going with me, just because I want you to so badly. Well?" She looked again at the servants, then around the room. At last she turned to Winston. "Hold me." He walked slowly to the chair and lifted her into his arms. He ran his hands through her wet hair, then brought up her lips. At last he spoke. "Does that mean yes?" She nodded silently. "Then I've got to go. Just pack what you think you'll want, but not too many silk skirts and bodices. You won't be needing them where we're going. Try and bring some of those riding breeches of yours." She hugged him tighter. "I was just thinking of our 'little island.' When was that?" "Yesterday. Just yesterday. But there're lots of islands in the Caribbean." "Yesterday." She drew back and looked at him. "And tomorrow?" "This time tomorrow we'll be at sea, or we'll be at the bottom of the bay out there." He kissed her one last time. "I'll send Joan quick as I can. So please hurry." Before she could say more, he stalked out into the rain and was gone. The sand along the shore of the bay was firm, beaten solid by the squall. The heavy thunderheads that threatened earlier had now blanked the sun, bringing new rain that swept along the darkened shore in hard strokes. Ahead through the gloom he could make out the outlines of his seamen, kegs of water balanced precariously on their shoulders, in an extended line from the thatched-roof warehouse by the careenage at the river mouth down to a longboat bobbing in the surf. After the raid on the Oistins breastwork, he had ordered them directly back to Bridgetown to finish lading. A streak of white cut across the sky, and in its shimmering light he could just make out the_ Defiance_, safely anchored in the shallows, canvas furled, nodding with the swell. Joan. She had said nothing when he asked her to go up and help Katherine. She'd merely glared her disapproval, while ordering the girls to bring her cloak. Joan was saving her thoughts for later, he knew. There'd be more on the subject of Katherine. The only sounds now were the pounding of rain along the shore and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. He was so busy watching the men he failed to notice the figure in white emerge from the darkness and move toward his path. When the form reached out for him, he whirled and dropped his hand to a pistol. "Senhor, desculpe. " The rain-mantled shadow curtsied, Portuguese style. He realized it was a woman. Briggs' mulata. The one Joan seemed so fond of. Before he could reply, she seized his arm. "_Faga o favor_, senhor, will you help us? I beg you." There was an icy urgency in her touch. "What are you doing here?" He studied her, still startled. Her long black hair was coiled across her face in tangled strands, and there were dark new splotches down the front of her white shift. "I'm afraid he'll die, senhor. And if he's captured . . ." "Who?" Winston tried unsuccessfully to extract his arm from her grasp. "I know he wanted to take the guns you have, but they were for us to fight for our freedom. He wished you no harm." Good God, so she had been part of it too! He almost laughed aloud, thinking how Benjamin Briggs had been cozened by all his slaves, even his half-African mistress. "You mean that Yoruba, Atiba? Tell him he can go straight to hell. Do you have any idea what he had his men do last night?" She looked up, puzzled, her eyes still pleading through the rain. "No, I don't suppose you could." He shrugged. "It scarcely matters now. But his parting words were an offer to kill me, no more than a few hours ago. So I say damned to him." "He is a man. No more than you, but no less. He was bom free; yet now he is a slave. His people are slaves." She paused, and when she did, a distant roll of thunder melted into the rain. "He did what he had to do. For his people, for me." "All he and his 'people' managed was to help the Commonwealth bring this island to its knees." "How? Because he led the Yoruba in a revolt against slavery?" She gripped his arm even tighter. "If he helped defeat the planters, then I am glad. Perhaps it will be the end of slavery after all." Winston smiled sadly. "It's only the beginning of that accursed trade. He might have stopped it--who knows?--if he'd won. But he lost. So that's the end of it. For him, for Barbados." "But you can save him." She tugged Winston back as he tried to brush past her. "I know you are leaving. Take him with you." "He belongs to Briggs." He glanced back. "Same as you do. There's nothing I can do about it. Right now, I doubt good master Briggs is of a mind to do anything but hang him." "Then if his life has no value to anyone here, take him as a free man." A web of white laced across the thunderhead. In its light he could just make out the tall masts of the _Defiance_, waving against the dark sky like emblems of freedom. God damn you, Benjamin Briggs. God damn your island of slaveholders. "Where is he?" "Derin has hidden him, not too far from here. When Atiba fainted from the loss of blood, he brought him up there." She turned and pointed toward the dark bulk of the island. "In a grove of trees where the _branco _could not find him. Then he came to me for help." "Who's this Derin?" "One of the Yoruba men who was with him." "Where're the others? There must've been a dozen or so over at Oistins this morning." "Some were killed near there. The others were captured. Derin told me they were attacked by the militia. Atiba only escaped because he fainted and Derin carried him to safety. The others stayed to fight, to save him, and they were taken." Her voice cracked. "I heard Master Briggs say the ones who were captured, Obewole and the others, would be burned alive tomorrow." "Burned alive!" "All the planters have agreed that is what they must do. It is to be made the punishment on Barbados for any slave who revolts, so the rest of the Africans will always fear the _branco_. " "Such a thing would never be allowed on English soil." "This is not your England, senhor. This is Barbados. Where slavery has become the lifeblood of all wealth. They will do it." "Bedford would never allow . . ." He stopped, and felt his heart wrench. "Good Christ. Now there's no one to stop them. Damn these bloodthirsty Puritans." He turned to her. "Can you get him down here? Without being seen?" "We will try." "If you can do it, I'll take him." "And Derin too?" "In for a penny, in for a pound." His smile was bitter. "Pox on it. I'll take them both." "Senhor." She dropped to her knees. "Tell me how I can thank you." "Just be gone. Before my boys get wind of this." He pulled her to her feet and glanced toward the rain-swept line of seamen carrying water kegs. "They'll not fancy it, you can be sure. I've got worries enough as is, God knows." "_Muito, muito obrigada_, senhor." She stood unmoving, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Just go." He stepped around her and moved on down the shore, toward the moored longboat where the men were working. Now John Mewes was standing alongside, minimally supervising the seamen as they stacked kegs. Mingled with his own men were several of the Irish indentures. "Damn this squall, Cap'n. We'll not be able to get under way till she lets up. It's no weather for a Christian to be at sea, that I promise you." "I think it's apt to ease up around nightfall." He checked the clouds again. "What're we needing?" "Once we get this laded, there'll be water aboard and to spare." He wiped the rain from his eyes and glanced at the sky. "God knows the whole of the island's seen enough water to float to sea.'Tis salt pork we're wanting now, and biscuit." "Can we get any cassava flour?" "There's scarcely any to be had. The island's half starved, Cap'n." "Did you check all the warehouses along here?" "Aye, we invited ourselves in and rifled what we could find. But there's pitiful little left, save batches of moldy tobacco waitin' to be shipped." "Damn. Then we'll just have to sail with what we've got." Winston turned and stared down the shore. There had not been any provisions off-loaded from Europe since the fleet arrived. There were no ships in the harbor now, save the _Defiance _and the _Zeelander_. The _Zeelander_. "When's the last time you saw Ruyters?" "This very mornin', as't happens. He came nosing by to enquire how it was we're afloat, and I told him it must've been the tide lifted her off." Mewes turned and peered through the rain toward the Dutch frigate. "What're you thinking?" "I'm thinking he still owes me a man, a Spaniard by the name of Vargas, which I've yet to collect." "That damned Butterbox'll be in no mood to accommodate you, I swear it." "All the same, we made a bargain. I want you and some of the boys to go over and settle it." He thumbed at the _Zeelander_, lodged in the sand not two hundred yards down the beach. "In the meantime, I have to go back up to Joan's and collect . . . a few things. Why don't you try and find Ruyters? Get that Spaniard, however you have to do it, and maybe see if he'll part with any of their biscuit." "Aye, I'll tend to it." He turned to go. "And John . . ." Winston waved him back. "Aye." "We may be having some company before we weigh anchor. Remember that Yoruba we caught on board a few nights back?" "Aye, I recollect the heathen well enough. I've not seen him since, thank God, though some of the lads claim there was one up at Oistins this mornin' who sounded a lot like him." "Same man. I've a mind to take him with us, and maybe another one. But don't say anything to the boys. Just let him on board if he shows up." "You're the captain. But I'd sooner have a viper between decks as that godless savage. They're sayin' he and a bunch of his kind gutted a good dozen Englishmen this mornin' like they was no better'n so many Spaniards." "Well, that's done and past. Just see he gets on board and the boys keep quiet about it." "They'll not be likin' it, by my life." "That's an order." "Aye." Mewes turned with a shrug, whistled for some of the seamen, then headed through the rain, down the shore toward the beached hulk of the _Zeelander. _ "She's here darlin'." Joan met him at the door. "In back, with the girls." "How is she?" Winston threw off his wet cape and reached for the tankard of sack she was handing him. "I think she's starting to understand he's dead now. I guess it just took a while. Now I think it's time you told me a few things yourself. Why're you taking her? Is't because you're worried the Roundheads might send her back home to be hanged?" "Is that the reason you want to hear?" "Damn your eyes, Hugh Winston. You're not in love with her, are you?" He smiled and took a sip from the tankard. "You'd best beware of her, love." She sighed. "That one's not for you. She's too independent, and I doubt she even knows what she's doin' half the time." "And how about me? Think I know what I'm doing?" He pulled back a chair and straddled it. "Doubtless not, given what you're plannin' next." She plopped into a chair. "But I've packed your things, you whoremaster. The girls're already sorry to see the lot of you leavin'. I think they've taken a fancy to a couple of your lads." She laughed. "But they'd have preferred you most of all. God knows, I've had to keep an eye on the jades day and night." He turned and stared out in the direction of the rain. "Maybe you'll decide to come over someday and open shop on Jamaica. This place has bad times coming." She leaned back and poured a tankard of sack for herself. "That's a fool's dream. But you're right about one thing. There're dark days in store here, not a doubt. Who knows how it'll settle out?" The wind seemed to play against the doors of the tavern. Then they swung open and a sudden gust coursed through the room, spraying fine mist across the tables. "Winston, damn me if I didn't figure I'd find you here." Benjamin Briggs pushed into the room, shook the rain from his wide hat, and reached for a chair. "I'm told you were the last to see that Yoruba of mine. That he tried to kill you this moming, much as he aimed to murder me." "He was at Oistins, true enough." Winston glanced up. "That's what I heard. They're claiming he and those savages of his brutally murdered some of Cromwell's infantry." He shook his hat one last time and tossed it onto the table. "We've got to locate him. Maybe you have some idea where he is now?" "He didn't trouble advising me of his intended whereabouts." "Well, he's a true savage, by my soul. A peril to every Christian on this island." He sighed and looked at Winston. "I don't know whether you've heard, but the Roundheads have already started disarming our militia. We'll soon have no way to defend ourselves. I think I winged him last night, but that heathen is apt to come and kill us both if we don't hunt him down and finish the job while we've still got the chance." He lowered his voice. "I heard about those flintlocks of yours. I was hoping maybe you'd take some of your boys and we could go after him whilst things are still in a tangle over at Oistins." Winston sat unmoving. "Remember what I told you the other day, about freeing these Africans? Well, now I say damned to you. You can manage your slaves any way you like, but it'll be without my flintlocks." "That's scarcely an attitude that'll profit the either of us at the moment." Briggs signaled to Joan for a tankard of kill-devil. "Peculiar company you keep these days, Mistress Fuller. 'Twould seem the Captain here cares not tuppence for his own life. Well, so be it. I'll locate that savage without him if I needs must." He took a deep breath and gazed around the empty room. "But lest my ride down here be for naught, I'd as soon take the time right now and settle that bargain we made." Joan poured the tankard and shoved it across the table to him. "You mean that woman you own?" "Aye, the mulatto wench. I'm thinking I might go ahead and take your offer of a hundred pounds, and damned to her." "What I said was eighty." Joan stared at him coldly. "Aye, eighty, a hundred, who can recall a shilling here or there." He took a swig. "What say we make it ninety then, and have an end to the business?" Joan eyed him. "I said eighty, though I might consider eighty-five. But not a farthing more." "You're a hard woman to trade with, on my honor." He took another draught from the tankard. "Then eighty-five it is, but only on condition we settle it here and now. In sterling. I'll not waste another day's feed on her." Winston glanced at Joan, then back at Briggs. "Do you know where she is?" The planter's eyes narrowed. "Up at my compound. Where else in God's name would she be?" Winston took a drink and looked out the doorway, into the rain. "I heard talk she was seen down around here this morning. Maybe she's run off." He turned to Joan. "I'd encourage you to pay on delivery." "Damn you, sir, our bargain's been struck." Briggs settled his tankard with a ring. "I never proposed delivering her with a coach and four horses." Joan sat silently, listening. Finally she spoke. "You'd best not be thinkin' to try and swindle me. I'll advance you five pounds now, on account, but you'll not see a penny of the rest till she's in my care." "As you will then." He turned and spat toward the corner. "She'll be here, word of honor." Joan glanced again at Winston, then rose and disappeared through the shuttered doors leading into the back room. After Briggs watched her depart, he turned toward Winston. "You, sir, have studied to plague me from the day you dropped anchor." "I usually cut the deck before I play a hand of cards." "Well, sir, I'll warrant Cromwell's got the deck now, for this hand at least. We'll see what you do about him." "Cromwell can be damned. I'll manage my own affairs." "As will we all, make no mistake." He took another drink. "Aye, we'll come out of this. We'll be selling sugar to the Dutchmen again in a year's time, I swear it. They can't keep that fleet tied up here forever." He looked at Winston. "And when it's gone, you'd best be on your way too, sir. Mark it." "I'll make note." Joan moved back through the room. "Five pounds." She handed Briggs a small cloth bag. "Count it if you like. That makes her mine. You'll see the balance when she's safe in this room." "You've got a trade." He took the bag and inventoried its contents with his thick fingers. "I'll let this tankard serve as a handshake." He drained the last of the liquor as he rose. As he clapped his soaking hat back onto his head, he moved next to where Winston sat. "And you, sir, would be advised to rethink helping me whilst there's time. That savage is apt to slit your throat for you soon enough if he's not tracked down." "And then burned alive, like you're planning for the rest of them?" Briggs stopped and glared. "That's none of your affair, sir. We're going to start doing what we must. How else are we to keep these Africans docile in future? Something's got to be done about these revolts." He whirled abruptly and headed for the door. At that moment, the battered louvres swung inward and a harried figure appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic, disoriented. A few seconds passed before anyone recognized Jeremy Walrond. His silk doublet was wet and bedraggled, his cavalier's hat waterlogged and drooping over his face. Before he could move, Briggs' pistol was out and leveled at his breast. "Not another step, you whoreson bastard, or I'll blow you to hell." His voice boomed above the sound of the storm. "Damn me if I shouldn't kill you on sight, except I wouldn't squander the powder and shot." He squinted through the open doorway. "Where's Anthony? I'd have him come forward and meet me like a man, the royalist miscreant." Jeremy's face flooded with fear. "He's . . .he's been taken on board the _Rainbowe_. I swear it." His voice seemed to crack. "By Powlett." "By who?" "A man named Powlett, the vice admiral. I think he's to be the new governor." "Well, damned to them both." Briggs lowered the pistol guardedly, then shoved it back into his belt. "They're doubtless conspiring this very minute how best to squeeze every farthing of profit from our sugar trade." "I . . . I don't know what's happening. They've made the Windwards as much as prisoners. Powlett's already disarmed the Regiment, and Colonel Morris is leading his infantry on the march to Bridgetown right now." He stepped gingerly in through the doorway. "I came down to try and find Miss Bedford. At the compound they said she might be . . ." "I doubt Katherine has much time for you." Winston looked up from his chair. "So you'd best get on back to Oistins before I decide to start this little war all over again." "Oh, for God's sake let the lad be. He's not even wearin' a sword," Joan interjected, then beckoned him forward. "Don't let this blusterin' lot frighten you, darlin'. Come on in and dry yourself off." "I've got to warn Katherine." He edged nervously toward Joan, as though for protection. His voice was still quavering. "We didn't expect this. They'd agreed to terms. They said . . ." "They lied." Winston drew out one of his pistols and laid it on the table before him. "And your gullible, ambitious royalist of a brother believed them. Haply, some others of us took our own precautions. Katherine's safe, so you can go on back to your Roundheads and tell them they'll never find her." "But I meant her no harm. It was to be for the best, I swear it. I want her to know that." He settled at a table and lowered his face into his hands. "I never dreamed it would come to this." He looked up. "Who could have?" "'Tis no matter now." Joan moved to him, her voice kindly. "You're not to blame. 'Twas Sir Anthony that led the defection. It's always the old fools who cause the trouble. He's the one who should have known . . ." "But you don't understand what really happened. I was the one who urged him to it, talked him into it. Because Admiral Calvert assured me none of this would happen." "You planned this with Calvert!" Briggs roared. "With that damned Roundhead! You let him use you to cozen Walrond and the Windwards into defecting?" Jeremy stifled a sob, then turned toward Joan, his blue eyes pleading. "Would you tell Katherine I just wanted to stop the killing. None of us ever dreamed . . ." "Jeremy." Katherine was standing in the open doorway leading to the back. "Is it really true, what you just said?" He stared at her in disbelief, and his voice failed for a second. Then suddenly the words poured out. "Katherine, you've got to get away." He started to rush to her, but something in her eyes stopped him. "Please listen. I think Powlett means to arrest you. I heard him talking about it. There's nothing we can do." "You and Anthony've got the Windwards." She examined him with hard scorn. "I fancy you can do whatever you choose. Doubtless he'll have himself appointed governor now, just as he's probably been wanting all along." "No! He never . . ." Jeremy's voice seemed to crack. Finally he continued, "A man named Powlett, the vice admiral, is going to be the new governor. Morris is marching here from Oistins right now. I only slipped away to warn you." "I've been warned." She was turning back toward the doorway. "Goodbye, Jeremy. You always wanted to be somebody important here. Well, maybe you've managed it now. You've made your mark on our times. You gave the Americas back to England. Congratulations. Maybe Cromwell will declare himself king next and then grant you a knighthood." "Katherine, I don't want it." He continued miserably. "I'm so ashamed. I only came to ask you to forgive me. And to warn you that you've got to get away." "I've heard that part already." She glanced back. "Now just leave." "But what'll you do?" Again he started to move toward her, then drew back. "It's none of your affair." She glared at him. "The better question is what you and Anthony'll do now? After you've betrayed us all. I thought you had more honor. I thought Anthony had more honor." He stood for a moment, as though not comprehending what she had said. Then he moved forward and confronted her. "How can you talk of honor, in the same breath with Anthony! After what you did. Made a fool of him." "Jeremy, you have known me long enough to know I do what I please. It was time Anthony learned that too." "Well, he should have broken off the engagement weeks ago, that much I'll tell you. And he would have, save he thought you'd come to your senses. And start behaving honorably." He glanced at Winston. "I see he was wrong." "I did come to my senses, Jeremy. Just in time. I'll take Hugh's honor over Anthony's any day." She turned and disappeared through the doorway. Jeremy stared after her, then faced Winston. "Damn you. You think I don't know anything. You're the . . ." "I think you'd best be gone." Winston rose slowly from his chair. "Give my regards to Sir Anthony. Tell him I expect to see him in hell. He pulled a musket ball from his pocket and tossed it to Jeremy. "And give him that, as thanks from me for turning this island and my ship over to the Roundheads. The next one he gets won't be handed to him. . . ." The doors of the tavern bulged open, and standing in the rain was an officer of the Commonwealth army. Behind him were three helmeted infantrymen holding flintlock muskets. "Your servant, gentlemen." The man glanced around the room and noticed Joan. "And ladies. You've doubtless heard your militia has agreed to lay down its arms, and that includes even those who'd cravenly hide in a brothel rather than serve. For your own safety we're here to collect all weapons, till order can be restored. They'll be marked and returned to you in due time." He motioned the three infantrymen behind him to close ranks at the door. "We'll commence by taking down your names." In the silence that followed nothing could be heard but the howl of wind and rain against the shutters. Dark had begun to settle outside now, and the room itself was lighted only by a single flickering candle, in a holder on the back wall. The officer walked to where Joan was seated and doffed his hat. "My name is Colonel Morris, madam. And you, I presume, are the . . ." "You betrayed us!" Jeremy was almost shouting. "You said we could keep our muskets. That we could . . ." "Master Walrond, is that you?" Morris turned and peered through the gloom. "Good Christ, lad. What are you doing here? You're not supposed to leave Oistins." He paused and inspected Jeremy. "I see you've not got a weapon, so I'll I forget I came across you. But you've got to get on back over to Oistins and stay with the Windwards, or I'll not be responsible." He turned to Briggs. "And who might you be, sir?" "My name, sir, is Benjamin Briggs. I am head of the Council of Barbados, and I promise you I will protest formally to Parliament over this incident. You've no right to barge in here and . . ." "Just pass me that pistol and there'll be no trouble. It's hotheads like you that make this necessary." Morris reached into Briggs' belt and deftly extracted the long flintlock, its gilded stock glistening in the candlelight. He shook the powder out of the priming pan and handed it to one of the infantrymen. "The name with this one is to be . . ." He glanced back. "Briggs, sir, I believe you said?" "Damn you. This treatment will not be countenanced. I need that pistol." Briggs started to move forward, then glanced warily at the infantrymen holding flintlock muskets. "We all regret it's necessary, just as much as you." Morris signaled to the three infantrymen standing behind him, their helmets reflecting the dull orange of the candles. "While I finish here, search the back room. And take care. There's apt to be a musket hiding behind a calico petticoat in a place like this." Winston settled back onto his chair. "I wouldn't trouble with that if I were you. There're no other guns here. Except for mine." Morris glanced at him, startled. Then he saw Winston's flintlock lying on the table. "You're not giving the orders here, whoever you are. And I'll kindly take that pistol." "I'd prefer to keep it. So it'd be well if you'd just leave now, before there's trouble." "That insubordinate remark, sir, has just gotten you put under arrest." Morris moved toward the table. Winston was on his feet. The chair he had been sitting on tumbled across the floor. "I said you'd best be gone." Before Morris could respond, a woman appeared at the rear doorway. "I'll save you all a search. I'm not afraid of Cromwell, and I'm surely not frightened of you." "Katherine, no!" Jeremy's voice was pleading. "And who might you be, madam?" Morris stared in surprise. "My name is Katherine Bedford, sir. Which means, I suppose, that you'll want to arrest me too." "Are you the daughter of Dalby Bedford?" "He was my father. And the last lawfully selected governor this island is likely to know." "Then I regret to say I do have orders to detain you. There are certain charges, madam, of aiding him in the instigation of this rebellion, that may need to be answered in London." "Katherine!" Jeremy looked despairingly at her. "I warned you . . ." "Is that why you're here, Master Walrond? To forewarn an accused criminal?" Morris turned to him. "Then I fear there may be charges against you too." He glanced at Briggs. "You can go, sir. But I'm afraid we'll have to hold your pistol for now, and take these others into custody." "You're not taking Miss Bedford, or anybody, into custody." Winston pulled back his water-soaked jerkin to expose the pistol in his belt. Morris stared at him. "And who, sir, are you?" "Check your list of criminals for the name Winston." He stood unmoving. "I'm likely there too." "Is that Hugh Winston, sir?" Morris' eyes narrowed, and he glanced nervously at the three men behind him holding muskets. Then he looked back. "We most certainly have orders for your arrest. You've been identified as the gunnery commander for the rebels here, to say nothing of charges lodged against you in England. My first priority is Miss Bedford, but I'll be pleased to do double duty and arrest you as well." "Fine. Now, see that pistol?" Winston thumbed toward the table. "Look it over carefully. There're two barrels, both primed. It's part of a pair. The other one is in my belt. That's four pistol balls. The man who moves to arrest Miss Bedford gets the first. But if you make me start shooting, I'm apt to forget myself and not stop till I've killed you all. So why don't you leave now, Colonel Morris, and forget everything you saw here." He glanced back at Katherine. "I'm sure Miss Bedford is willing to forget she saw you. She's had a trying day." "Damn your impudence, sir." Morris turned and gestured at the men behind him. "Go ahead and arrest her." One of the helmeted infantrymen raised his flintlock and waved Katherine forward. "No!" Jeremy shouted and lunged toward the soldier. "You can't! I never meant . . ." The shot sounded like a crack of thunder in the close room. Black smoke poured from the barrel of the musket, and Jeremy froze where he stood, a quizzical expression on his face. He turned to look back at Katherine, his eyes penitent, then wilted toward the floor, a patch of red spreading across his chest. Almost simultaneous with the musket's discharge, the pistol in Winston's belt was already drawn and cocked. It spoke once, and the infantryman who had fired dropped, a trickle of red down his forehead. As the soldier behind him started to raise his own musket, the pistol gave a small click, rotating the barrel, and flared again. The second man staggered back against the wall, while his flintlock clattered unused to the floor. Now the rickety table in front of Winston was sailing toward the door, and the pistol that had been lying on it was in his hand. The table caught the third infantryman in the groin as he attempted to raise his weapon and sent him sprawling backward. His musket rattled against the shutters, then dropped. Morris looked back to see the muzzle of Winston's second flintlock leveled at his temple. "Katy, let's go." Winston motioned her forward. "We'll probably have more company any minute now." "You're no better than a murderer, sir." Morris finally recovered his voice. "I didn't fire the first shot. But by God I'll be the one who fires the last, that I promise you." He glanced back. "Katy, I said let's go. Take whatever you want, but hurry." "Hugh, they've killed Jeremy!" She stood unmoving, shock in her face. "He wouldn't let me handle this my way." Winston kept his eyes on Morris. "But it's too late now." "He tried to stop them. He did it for me." She was shaking. "Oh, Jeremy, why in God's name?" "Katy, come on." Winston looked back. "Joan, get her things. We've got to move out of here, now." Joan turned and pushed her way through the cluster of Irish girls standing fearfully in the rear doorway. "You'll hang for this, sir." Morris eyed the pistol. The remaining infantryman still sat against the wall, his unfired musket on the floor beside him. "The way you'd planned to hang Miss Bedford, no doubt." He motioned toward Briggs. "Care to collect those muskets for me?" "I'll have no hand in this, sir." The planter did not move. "You've earned a noose for sure." "I'll do it." Katherine stepped across Jeremy's body and assembled the three muskets of the infantrymen. She carried them back, then confronted Morris. "You, sir, have helped steal the freedom of this island, of the Americas. It's impossible to tell you how much I despise you and all you stand for. I'd kill you myself if God had given me the courage. Maybe Hugh will do it for me." "I'll see the both of you hanged, madam, or I'm not a Christian." "I hope you try." Joan emerged through the crowd, toting a large bundle. She laid it on a table by the door, then turned to Winston. "Here's what we got up at the compound this afternoon." She surveyed the three bodies sadly. "Master Jeremy was a fine lad. Maybe he's finally managed to make his brother proud of him; I'll wager it's all he ever really wanted." She straightened. "Good Christ, I hope they don't try and shut me down because of this." "It wasn't your doing." Winston lifted the bundle with his free hand. "Katy, can you manage those muskets?" "I'd carry them through hell." "Then let's be gone." He waved the pistol at the infantryman sitting against the wall. "Get up. You and the colonel here are going to keep us company." "Where do you think you can go?" Briggs still had not moved. "They'll comb the island for you." "They'll look a long time before they find us on Barbados." He shoved the pistol against Morris' ribs. "Let's be off. Colonel." "There'll be my men all about." Morris glared. "You'll not get far." "We'll get far enough." He shifted the bundle under his arm. "Darlin', Godspeed. I swear I'll miss you." Joan kissed him on the cheek, then turned to Katherine. "And mind you watch over him in that place he's headed for." "Jamaica?" "No. He knows where I mean." She looked again at Winston. "There's no worse spot in the Caribbean." "Don't worry. You'll hear from me." Winston kissed her back, then urged Morris forward. "See that you stay alive." She followed them to the door. "And don't try anything too foolish." "I always take care." He turned and bussed her on the cheek one last time. Then they were gone. Chapter Nineteen As Winston and Katherine led their prisoners slowly down the shore, the _Defiance_ stood out against the dark sky, illuminated by flashes of lightning as it tugged at its anchor cables. The sea was up now, and Winston watched as her prow dipped into the trough of each swell, as though offering a curtsy. They had almost reached the water when he spotted John Mewes, waiting by the longboat. "Ahoy, Cap'n," he sang out through the gusts of rain. "What're you doin'? Impressing Roundheads to sail with us now? We've already got near to fifty of your damn'd indentures." "Are they on board?" "Aye, them and all the rest. You're the last." He studied Katherine and Morris in confusion. "Though I'd not expected you'd be in such fine company." "Then we weigh anchor." "In this squall?" Mewes' voice was incredulous. "We can't put on any canvas now. It'd be ripped off the yards." "We've got to. The Roundheads are already moving on Bridgetown. We'll try and use those new short sails." Winston urged Morris forward with his pistol, then turned back to Mewes. "Any sign of that African we talked about?" "I've seen naught of him, and that's a fact." He peered up the beach, hoping one last cursory check would suffice. Now that the rain had intensified, it was no longer possible to see the hills beyond. "But I did manage to get that Spaniard from Ruyters, the one named Vargas." He laughed. "Though I finally had to convince the ol' King of the Butterboxes to see things our way by bringin' over a few of the boys and some muskets." "Good. He's on board now?" "Safe as can be. An' happy enough to leave that damn'd Dutchman, truth to tell. Claimed he was sick to death of the putrid smell of the Zeelander, now that she's been turned into a slaver." "Then to hell with the African. We can't wait any longer." "'Tis all to the good, if you want my thinkin'." Mewes reached up and adjusted Morris' helmet, then performed a mock salute. He watched in glee as the English commander's face flushed with rage. "You're not takin' these two damn'd Roundheads aboard, are you?" "Damn you, sir." Morris ignored Mewes as he glared at Winston, then looked down at the pistol. He had seen a double-barrelled mechanism like this only once before--property of a Spanish diplomat in London, a dandy far more skilled dancing the bourree than managing a weapon. But such a device in the hands of an obvious marksman like Winston; nothing could be more deadly. "There's been quite enough . . ." "Get in the longboat." "I'll do no such thing." Morris drew back. "I have no intention of going with you, wherever it is you think you're headed." "I said get in. If you like it here so much, you can swim back after we weigh anchor." Winston tossed his bundle across the gunwale, seized Morris by his doublet, and sent him sprawling after it. Then he turned to the infantryman. "You get in as well." Without a word the man clambered over the side. Winston heaved a deep breath, then took the muskets Katherine was carrying and handed them to Mewes. "Katy, this is the last you're apt to see of Barbados for a long while." "Please, let's don't talk about it." She seized her wet skirts and began to climb over the side, Winston steadying her with one hand. "I suppose I somehow thought I could have everything. But I guess I've learned differently." He studied her in confusion for a moment, then turned and surveyed the dark shore one last time. "All right, John, prepare to cast off." "Aye." Mewes loosened the bow line from its mooring and tossed it into the longboat. Together they shoved the bobbing craft and its passengers deeper into the surf. "What's your name?" Winston motioned the infantryman forward as he lifted himself over the gunwales. "MacEwen, Yor Worship." He took off his helmet and tossed it onto the boards. His hair was sandy, his face Scottish. "Then take an oar, MacEwen. And heave to." "Aye, Sor." The Scotsman ignored Morris' withering glare and quickly took his place. "You can row too, Colonel." Winston waved the pistol. "Barbados is still a democracy, for at least a few more hours." Morris said nothing, merely grimaced and reached for an oar. Katherine laid her cheek against Winston's shoulder and looked wistfully back toward the shore. "Everything we made, the Commonwealth's going to take away now. Everything my father and I, and all the others, worked so hard for together." He held her against him as they moved out through the surf and across the narrow band of water to the ship. In what seemed only moments the longboat edged beneath the quartergallery and the _Defiance_ was hovering above them. "John, have the boys drop that short sail and weigh anchor as soon as we're aboard. This westerly off the coast should get us underway and past the blockade. We'll just keep her close hauled till we've doubled the Point, then run up some more canvas." "It'll be a miracle if we manage to take her by the Point in this sea, and in the dark besides." Mewes was poised in the bow of the longboat. "When we get aboard, I'll take the helm. You just get the canvas on her." "Aye." He reached up and seized a notch beneath a gunport, pulling the longboat under the deadeyes that supported the mainmast shrouds. As he began mounting the rope ladder he tossed the line up through the rain. Winston had taken Katherine's arm to help her up when he heard a buzz past his ear. Then, through the rain, came a faint pop, the report of a musket. "God's blood!" He turned back to look. Dimly through the rain he could make out a line of helmeted infantrymen along the shore, muskets in hand. They were disorganized, without a commander, but standing alongside them and yelling orders was a heavy man in a wide black hat. Benjamin Briggs. "He betrayed us! He brought them right down to the bay. I wonder what he's figuring to get in return? Doubtless a place in the new government. We've got to . . ." Before he could finish, Katherine had caught his arm and was pointing over in the direction of the river mouth. "Hugh, wait. Do you see that? There's someone out there. In the surf. I thought I noticed it before." "More damned infantry?" He turned to stare. "They'd not try swimming after us. They'd wait for longboats." "I can't tell. It's over there, on the left. I think someone's trying to wade out." He squinted through the rain. A figure clad in white was waist deep in the surf, holding what seemed to be a large bundle. "That's no Roundhead. I'll wager it's likely Briggs' mulata. Though she's just a little too late. I've a mind to leave her." He paused to watch as a wave washed over the figure and sent it staggering backward. Then another bullet sang past and he heard the shouts of Benjamin Briggs. "Maybe I owe a certain planter one last service." "Cap'n, we've got to get this tub to sea." Mewes was crouching behind the bulwarks of the _Defiance_. "Those damn'd Roundheads along the shore don't have many muskets yet, but they're apt to be gettin' reinforcements any time now. So if it's all the same, I don't think I'd encourage waitin' around all night." "John, how are the anchors?" "I've already weighed the heavy one up by the bow." He called down. "Say the word and we can just slip the cable on that little one at the stern." "Maybe we've got time." He pushed the longboat back away from the side of the _Defiance_. As he reached for an oar, Morris threw down his helmet and dove into the swell. In moments the commander was swimming toward shore. "Aye, he's gone, Yor Worship. He's a quick one, to be sure." The Scottish infantryman gave only a passing glance as he threw his weight against the oar. "You'll na be catching him, on my faith." "And what about you?" "With Yor Worship's leave, I'd as soon be stay in' on with you." He gave another powerful stroke with the oar. "Where'er you're bound, 'tis all one to me." "What were you before? A seaman?" "A landsman, Yor Worship, I'll own it. I was took in the battle of Dunbar and impressed into the Roundhead army, made to come out here to the Caribbees. But I've had a bellyful of these Roundheads and their stinking troop ships, I swear it. I kept my pigs better at home. I'd serve you like you was the king himself if you'd give me leave." "MacEwen, wasn't it?" "Aye, Yor Worship. At your service." "Then heave to." Winston pulled at the other oar. Through the dark they could just make out the bobbing form, now neck deep in the surf. She was supporting the black arms of yet another body. "Senhora!" Winston called through the rain. The white-clad figure turned and stared blankly toward them. She seemed overcome with exhaustion, unsure even where she was. "_Espere um momento_. We'll come to you." He was shouting now in Portuguese. A musket ball sang off the side of the longboat as several infantrymen began advancing down the shore in their direction. The Scotsman hunkered beside the gunwales but did not miss a stroke of his oar as they neared the bobbing heads in the water. "Here, senhora." Winston reached down and grasped the arms of the body Serina was holding. It was Atiba. While Katherine caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her over the gunwale, MacEwen helped Winston hoist the Yoruba, unconscious, onto the planking. He was still bleeding, his breath faint. "He is almost dead, senhor. And they have killed Derin." Serina was half choked from the surf. "At first I was afraid to try bringing him. But then I thought of what would happen if they took him, and I knew I had . . ." She began mumbling incoherently as she bent over the slumped form of Atiba, her mouth against his, as though to urge breath back into him. "Katy, the minute we're on board take them straight down to the cabin and see if you can get a little brandy into him. Maybe it'll do some good." "I'll try, but I fear it's too late already. Let's just get underway." She turned to look at the deck of the _Defiance_, where a line of seamen had appeared with muskets. The firing from the shore slowed now, as the infantry melted back into the rain to avoid the barrage from the ship. By the time their longboat was hoisted up over the side and lashed midships, Morris had retreated to safety with his men. While Mewes ordered the remaining anchor cable slipped and the mainsail dropped, Katherine ushered Serina through the companionway to the Great Cabin, followed by seamen carrying Atiba. Then the mast groaned against the wind, a seaman on the quarterdeck unlashed the helm, and in moments they had begun to pull away. "That was easy." Mewes spat in the general direction of the scuppers, then hoisted up his belt as he watched the rainswept shore begin to recede. "Could be Morris is just saving us for the frigates." Winston was studying the bobbing mast lights off their portside bow. "He probably figures they heard the gunfire and will realize something's afoot." "They've got their share of ordnance, that much I'll warrant. There's at least one two-decker still on station out there, the _Gloucester_. I sailed on her once, back when I first got impressed by the damn'd navy, twenty-odd years back. She's seen her years at sea, but she's got plenty of cannon between decks for all that." "I think you'd better have the portside guns primed and ready to run out, just in case. But I figure once we get past the Point, we'll be clear. After that we can steer north and ride this coastal westerly right up to Speightstown, maybe heave-to there till the storm eases." He turned and headed down the deck. "I'm going aft to take the whipstaff. Get the yardmen aloft and damn the weather. I want the maintop and all braces manned." "Aye, you never know." Mewes yelled the gunnery orders through the open hatch, then marched down the deck giving assignments. Katherine was standing at the head of the companionway leading to the Great Cabin as Winston passed on his way to the quarterdeck. "I've put the African in your cabin, along with the mulatto woman." She caught his arm as he headed up the steps. "She's delirious. And I think he's all but dead. He's got a bad musket wound in his shoulder." "Even if he dies now, it'll be better than what Briggs and the planters had planned." He looked at her face and pushed aside a sudden desire to take her into his arms, just to know she was his at last. "But see if you can clean his wound with brandy. I'd hate to lose him now after all the trouble we went to bringing him aboard." "Why did you do it, Hugh? After all, he tried to kill you once, on this very deck. I was here, remember." "Who understands why we do anything? Maybe I like his brass. Maybe I don't even know the reason anymore." He turned and headed up the steps. Serina lifted his cheek against her own, the salt from her tears mingling with the sea water in his hair. The wound in his shoulder was open now, sending a trickle of blood glistening across his chest. His breathing was in spasms. Shango, can you still hear me . . .? "Try washing his wound with this." Katherine was standing above her, in the dim light of the candle-lantern, holding a gray onion-flask of brandy. "Why are you helping me, senhora?" Serina looked up, her words a blend of English and Portuguese. "You care nothing for him. Or for me." "I . . . I want to." Katherine awkwardly pulled the cork from the bottle, and the fiery fumes of the brandy enveloped them. "Because the senhor told you to do it. That is the real reason." She finally reached and took the bottle. "He is a good man. He risked his life for us. He did not need to. No other _branco_ on this island would have." "Then you can repay him by doing what he asked. He said to clean the wound." Serina settled the bottle onto the decking beside the sleeping bunk, then bent over and kissed the clan marks on Atiba's dark cheek. As she did, the ship rolled awkwardly and a high wave dashed against the quartergallery. Quickly she seized the neck of the flask and secured it till they had righted. "I think we will have to do it together." "Together?" "Never fear, senhora. Atiba's black skin will not smudge your white Ingles hands." "I never thought it would." Katherine impulsively reached down and ripped off a portion of her skirt. Then she grabbed the flask and pulled back his arm. While Serina held his shoulder forward, she doused the wound with a stream of the brown liquor, then began to swab away the encrusted blood with the cloth. His skin felt like soft leather, supple to the touch, with hard ripples of muscles beneath. The sting of the brandy brought an involuntary jerk. Atiba's eyes opened and he peered, startled, through the gloom. "Don't try to move." Quickly Serina bent over him, whispering softly into his ear. "You are safe. You are on the _branco's_ ship." He started to speak, but at that moment another wave crashed against the stern and the ship lurched sideways. Atiba's eyes flooded with alarm, and his lips formed a word. "Dara . . ." Serina laid her face next to his. "Don't talk. Please. Just rest now." She tried to give him a drink of the brandy, but his eyes refused it. Then more words came, faint and lost in the roar of the wind and the groaning of the ancient boards of the _Defiance_. Finally his breath seemed to dissolve as unconsciousness again drifted over him. Katherine watched as Serina gently laid his head against the cushion on the bunk, then fell to her knees and began to pray, mumbling foreign words . . . not Portuguese. She found herself growing more and more uneasy; something about the two of them was troubling, almost unnatural. Finally she rose and moved to watch the sea through the stern windows. Though the waves outside slammed ever more menacingly against the quartergallery, as the storm was worsening noticeably, she still longed for the wind in her face. Again she recalled her first night here with Hugh, when they had looked out through this very window together, in each other's arms. What would it be like to watch the sea from this gallery now, she wondered, when the ocean and winds were wild? She sighed and pulled open the latch. What she saw took her breath away. Off the portside, bearing down on them, was the outline of a tallmasted English warship with two gun decks. Before she could move, there were shouts from the quarterdeck above, then the trampling of feet down the companionway leading to the waist of the ship. He'd seen it too, and ordered his gun crews to station. She pulled back from the window as a wave splashed across her face, and a chill swept the room, numbing her fingers. She fumbled a moment trying to secure the latch, then gave up and turned to head for the door. If we're all to die, she told herself, I want to be up with Hugh, on the quarterdeck. Oh God, why now? After all we've been through? As she passed the lantern, she noticed Serina, still bent over the African, still mumbling the strange words. . . . "Do you know what's about to happen to us all!" The frustration was more than she could contain. "Come back over here and take a look." When the mulatto merely stared at her with a distant, glazed expression, she strode to where she knelt and took her arm, pulling her erect. While she was leading her toward the open window, she heard a deep groaning rise up through the timbers of the frigate and knew the cannon were being run out. Winston had ordered a desperate gamble; a possible ordnance duel with a warship twice the burden of the _Defiance_. Moving the guns now, when the seas were high, only compounded their danger. If one broke loose from its tackles, it could hurtle through the side of the ship, opening a gash that would surely take enough water to sink them in minutes. "Do you see, senhora?" She directed Serina's gaze out the open windows. "If you want to pray, then pray that that man-of-war doesn't catch us. Your African may soon be dead anyway, along with you and me too." "What . . . will they do?" The mulatto studied the approaching warship, her eyes only half seeing. "I expect they'll pull alongside us if they can, then run out their guns and . . ." She felt her voice begin to quiver. "Then I will pray." "Please do that." She whirled in exasperation and quickly shoved her way out the door and into the companionway. As she mounted the slippery ladder to the quarterdeck, she felt John Mewes brush past in the rain, bellowing orders aloft. She looked up to see men perched along the yards, clinging to thin ropes in the blowing rain as they loosened the topgallants. The_ Defiance _was putting on every inch of canvas, in weather where any knowing seaman would strike sail and heave-to. "Good God, Katy, I wish you'd go back below decks. The Gloucester must have spied our sail when we doubled the Point." Winston's voice sounded through the rain. He was steering the ship all alone now, his shoulder against the whipstaff. Off the portside the English warship, a gray hulk with towering masts, was rapidly narrowing the distance between them. "Hugh, I want to be up here, with you." She grabbed onto a shroud to keep her balance. "They're planning to try and sink us, aren't they?" "Unless we heave-to. Which I have no intention of doing. So they'll have to do just that if they expect to stop us. And I'd say they have every intention of making the effort. Look." He pointed through the rain. Now the line of gunport covers along the upper gun deck were being raised. "They're making ready to start running out their eighteen-pounders." "What can we do?" "First put on all the canvas we've got. Then get our own guns in order. If we can't outrun them, we'll have to fight." "Do you think we have a chance?" She studied the ship more closely. It seemed to have twice the sail of the _Defiance_, but then it was heavier and bulkier. Except for the _Rainbowe_, Cromwell had not sent his best warships to the Americas. This one could be as old as Hugh's. "I've outrun a few men-of-war before. But not in weather like this." "Then I want to stay up here. And that mulatto woman you took on board frightens me, almost as much as this." "Then stay. For now. But if they get us in range, I want you below." He glanced aloft, where men clinging to the swaying yards had just secured the main tops'ls. As the storm worsened, more lightning flashed in the west, bringing prayers and curses from the seamen. "The weather's about as bad as it could be. I've never had the _Defiance_ under full sail when it's been like this. I never want to again." After the topgallants were unfurled and secured, they seemed to start picking up momentum. The _Gloucester_ was still off their portside, but far enough astern that she could not use her guns. And she was no longer gaining. "Maybe we can still outrun them?" She moved alongside Winston. "There's a fair chance." He was holding the whipstaff on a steady course. "But they've not got all their canvas on yet. They know it's risky." He turned to study the warship and she saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. "In good weather, they could manage it. But with a storm like this, maybe not." He paused as the lightning flared again. "Still, if they decide to chance the rest of their sail . . ." She settled herself against the binnacle to watch the _Gloucester_. Then she noticed the warship's tops'ls being unfurled. Winston saw it too. The next lightning flash revealed that the _Gloucester_ had now begun to run out her upper row of guns, as the distance between them slowly began to narrow once more. "Looks as if they're going to gamble what's left of their running rigging, Katy. I think you'd best be below." "No, I . . ." Winston turned and yelled toward the main deck, "John, pass the order. If they pull in range, tell Canninge to just fire at will whenever the portside guns bear. Same as when that revenue frigate _Royale_ once tried to board us. Maybe he can cripple their gun deck long enough to try and lose them in the dark." "Aye." A muted cry drifted back through the howl of rain. "Hugh, I love you." She touched the sleeve of his jerkin. "I think I even know what it means now." He looked at her, her hair tangled in the rain. "Katy, I love you enough to want you below. Besides, it's not quite time to say our farewells yet." "I know what's next. They'll pull to windward of us and just fire away. They'll shoot away our rigging till we're helpless, and then they'll hole us till we take on enough water to go down." "It's not going to be that easy. Don't forget we've got some ordnance of our own. Just pray they can't set theirs in this sea." Lightning flashed once more, glistening off the row of cannon on the English warship. They had range now, and Katherine could see the glimmer of lighted linstocks through the open gunports. "Gracious Lord, for what we are about to receive, make us truly thankful." John Mewes was mounting the quarterdeck to watch. "This looks to be it, Cap'n." "Just keep on praying, John. And get back down on deck. I want every inch of sail on those yards." "Aye, I'd like the same, save I don't know where exactly we've got any more to put on, unless I next hoist my own linen." He crossed himself, then headed down the companion way. Suddenly a gun on the _Gloucester_ flared, sending an eighteen-pound round shot through the upper sails of the _Defiance_, inches from the maintop. Then again, and this time the edge of the fo'c'sle ripped away, spraying splinters across the deck. "John! Tell Canninge he'd better start firing the second his guns bear. And he'd best be damned quick on it too." Even as he spoke, a roar sounded from below and the deck tilted momentarily sideways. Katherine watched as a line of shot splintered into the planking along the side of the _Gloucester_, between her gun decks. "Damn, he came close." Winston studied the damage. "But not close enough." Again the lightning flashed, nearer now, a wide network across the heavens, and she saw the _Gloucester's_ captain standing on his own quarterdeck, nervously staring aloft at the storm. "Katy, please go below. This is going to get very bad. If they catch this deck, there'll be splinters everywhere. Not to mention ..." The _Gloucester's _guns flamed again. She felt the deck tremble as an eighteen-pound shot slammed into the side of the _Defiance_, up near the bow. "John, let's have some more of those prayers." Winston yelled down again. "And while you're at it, tell Canninge to give them another round the second he's swabbed out. He's got to hurt that upper gun deck soon or we're apt to be in for a long night." "Hugh, can't we . . ." She stopped as she saw a figure in a bloodstained white shift slowly moving up the companionway. "Good Christ." He had seen it too. "Katy, try and keep her the hell off the quarterdeck and out of the way." While he threw his shoulder against the whipstaff and began shouting more orders to Mewes on the main deck, Serina mounted the last step. She moved across the planking toward them, her eyes glazed, even more than before. "Come below, senhora." Katherine reached out for her. "You could be hurt." The mulata's hand shot up and seized her arm with an iron grip. Katherine felt her feet give way, and the next thing she knew she had been flung sideways against the hard rope shrouds. "_E pada nibi!_" The voice was deep, chilling. Then she turned and advanced menacingly on Winston. "God damn you!" He shoved her back, then reached to help Katherine. "Katy, are you all right? Just watch out for her. I wager she's gone mad after all that's happened. If we get time I'll have some of the boys come and take her below." Again the _Gloucester's_ guns flared, and a whistle sang across the quarterdeck as the shot clipped the railing next to where they were standing. Serina stared wildly at the shattered rail, then at the English man-of-war. Her eyes seemed vacant, as though looking through all she saw. "Good Christ, Katy, take a look at those skies." Winston felt a chill in his bowels as the lightning blossomed again. "The wind is changing; I can feel it. Something's happening. If we lose a yard, or tear a sail, they'll take us in a minute. All it needs is one quick shift, too much strain." As if in response to his words, the hull shuddered, then pitched backward, and Katherine heard a dull crack from somewhere in the rigging. "Christ." Winston was staring aloft, his face washed in the rain. She followed his gaze. The mainmast had split, just below the maintop. The topsail had fallen forward, into the foremast, and had ripped through the foresail. A startled main-topman was dangling helplessly from the side of his round perch. Then something else cracked, and he tumbled toward the deck, landing in the middle of a crowd of terrified seamen huddled by the fo'c'sle door. "I knew we couldn't bear full sail in this weather. We've just lost a good half of our canvas." He looked back. "You've got to go below now. Please. And see if you can somehow take that woman with you. We're in very bad trouble. If I was a religious man, I'd be on my knees praying right now." The _Gloucester's_ guns spoke once more, and a shot clipped the quartergallery only feet below where they were, showering splinters upward through the air. "Atiba!" Serina was staring down over the railing, toward the hole that had been ripped in the corner of the Great Cabin beneath them. Then she looked out at the warship, and the hard voice rose again. "_Iwo ko lu oniran li oru o nlu u li ossan?"_ Finally her eyes flared and she shouted through the storm, "_Shango. Oyinbo I'o je!"_ Once more the lightning came. Later he wondered if he might have been praying after all. He remembered how the fork of fire slid down the mainmast of the _Gloucester_, then seemed to envelop the maintop, sending smoke billowing through the tops'ls above. Next it coiled about the mainmast shrouds. In moments her main tops'l was aflame, as though she'd been caught with fire-arrows. Soon a tongue of the blaze flicked downward and ignited her main course. After that the shrouds began to smolder. Almost immediately her seamen began furling the other sails, and all open gunports were quickly slammed down to stop any shreds of burning canvas from accidentally reaching the gun deck. Next the helmsman threw his weight against the whipstaff to try and take her off the wind. She was still underway, like a crippled fireship bearing down on them, and for a moment Winston thought they were in even greater danger than before. But then the _Gloucester's _mainmast slowly toppled forward as the shrouds gave way, tearing into the other rigging, and she heeled. It was impossible to see what followed, because of the rain, but moments later burning spars were drifting across the waves. "It was the hand of Providence, as I'm a Christian." John Mewes was mounting the quarterdeck, solemn and subdued. A crowd of stunned seamen were following him to gain a better view astern. "The Roundhead whoresons were tempting fate. They should've known better than puttin' to sea with topmasts like those in this damn'd weather. Heaven knows, I could have told them." There was a murmur of assent from the others. They stood praising the beneficence of God and watched as the last burning mast disappeared into the rain. After Winston had lashed the whipstaff in place and ordered the sails shortened, he collapsed against the binnacle. "It was a miracle, Hugh." Katherine wrapped an arm about him. Her bodice was soaked with rain and sweat. "I think I was praying. When I'd all but forgotten how." "I've heard of it happening, God knows. But I've never before seen it. Just think. If we'd had taller masts, we could well have caught it ourselves." Now the mood was lightening, as congratulations began to pass among the men. It was only then Katherine noticed the white shift at their feet. The mulatto was crumpled beside the binnacle, still as death. "John, have somebody come and take that woman below." Winston glanced down. "She looks to have fainted." "Aye. I was near to faintin' myself, truth to tell." Finally Winston pulled himself up and surveyed the seamen. "I say well done, masters, one and all. So let's all have a word of thanks to the Almighty . . . and see if we can locate a keg of brandy. This crew has earned it." Katherine leaned against him as she watched the cheering men head for the main deck. "Where can we go now, Hugh? There'll soon be a price on our heads in every English settlement from Virginia to Bermuda." "From the shape of our rigging, I'd guess we're going nowhere for a day or so. We've got to heave-to till the weather lets up, and try to mend those sails. After that I figure we'd best steer north, hope to beat the fleet up to Nevis, where we can careen and maybe lay in some more victuals." "And then are you really going to try your scheme about Jamaica? With just the men you've got here?" "Not just yet. You're right about the men. We don't have enough now." He lowered his voice. "So I'm thinking we'll have to make another stop first." "Where?" "There's only one place I know of where we can still find what we'll be needing." He slipped his arm about her waist. "A little island off the north coast of Hispaniola." "You don't mean Tortuga? The Cow-Killers . . ." "Now Katy, there's no better time than now to start learning what they're called over there on that side of the Caribbean. I know the Englishmen here in the Caribbees call them the Cow-Killers, but over there we were always known by our French name." "What's that?" "Sort of an odd one. You see, since we cured our meat Indian-style, on those greenwood grills they called _boucans_, most seamen over there knew us as the _boucaniers_. And that's the name we kept when we started sailing against the Spaniards." "You mean . . .?" "That's right. Try and remember it. Buccaneer." Book Three TORTUGA / JAMAICA Chapter Twenty The sun emerged from the distant edge of the sea, burning through the fine mist that hung on the horizon. Katherine was standing on the high quartergallery, by the railing at the stern, the better to savor the easterly breeze that tousled her hair and fluttered the cotton sleeves of her seaman's shirt. The quiet of the ship was all but complete, with only the rhythmic splash of waves against the bow and the occasional groan from the masts. She loved being on deck to watch the dawn, out of the sweltering gloom of the Great Cabin. This morning, when the first light of day brightened the stern windows, she'd crept silently from their narrow bunk, leaving Hugh snoring contentedly. She'd made her way up to the quarterdeck, where John Mewes dozed beside the steering house where he was to monitor the weathered grey whipstaff, lashed secure on a course due west. Now she gazed out over the swells, past the occasional white-caps that dotted the blue, and tasted the cool, moist air. During the voyage she had learned how to read the cast of the sea, the sometimes fickle Caribbean winds, the hidden portent in the color of clouds and sun. She'd even begun practicing how to take latitude with the quadrant. Suddenly a porpoise surfaced along the stern, then another, and together they began to pirouette in the wake of the ship like spirited colts. Was there any place else in the world, she wondered, quite like the Caribbean? She never tired of watching for the schools of flying fish that would burst from the sea's surface like flushed grouse, seemingly in chase of the great barracuda that sometimes flashed past the bow. And near the smaller islands, where shallow reefs turned the coastal waters azure, she had seen giant sea turtles, green leatherbacks and rusty-brown loggerheads, big as tubs and floating languorously on the surface. The wildness of the islands and sea had begun to purge her mind, her memory. Fresh mornings like this had come to seem harbingers of a new life as well as a new day, even as the quick, golden-hued sunsets promised Hugh's warm embrace. After Barbados they'd made sail for Nevis Island, and as they neared the small log-and-clapboard English settlement along its southern shore, the skies had finally become crystalline and dry, heralding the end of the autumn rainy season. They lingered in the island's reef- bound harbor almost three weeks while Winston careened the _Defiance_ and stripped away her barnacles, scorched the lower planks with burning branches to kill shipworm, then caulked all her leaky seams with hemp and pitch. Finally he'd laded in extra barrels of salt beef, biscuit, and fresh water. They were all but ready to weigh anchor the day a Dutch merchantman put in with word that the Commonwealth fleet had begun preparations to depart Barbados. Why so soon, they puzzled. Where were Cromwell's warships bound for now? Wherever the fleet's next destination, it scarcely mattered. The American rebellion was finished. After word spread through Nevis and St. Christopher that Barbados had capitulated, all the planters' talk of defiance evaporated. If the largest English settlement in the Americas could not stand firm, they reasoned, what chance did the small ones have? A letter pledging fealty to Commons was dispatched to the fleet by the Assembly of those two sister islands. That step taken, they hoped Calvert would bypass them with his hungry army and sail directly for Virginia, whose blustering royalists everyone now expected to also yield without a murmur. Still, after news came that the troops were readying to move out, Katherine had agreed with Winston that they shouldn't chance being surprised at Nevis. Who could tell when the Commonwealth's warships might suddenly show themselves on the southern horizon? The next morning they weighed anchor, heading north for the first two hundred leagues, then steering due west. That had been six days ago. . . . "You're lookin' lovely this morning, m'lady." John Mewes' groggy voice broke the silence as he started awake, then rose and stretched and ambled across the quarterdeck toward the bannister where she stood. "I'd say there she is, sure as I'm a Christian." He was pointing south, in the direction of the dim horizon, where a grey-green land mass had emerged above the dark waters. "The pride of the Spaniards." "What is it, John?" "Why, that's apt to be none other than Hispaniola, Yor Ladyship. Plain as a pikestaff. An' right on schedule." He bellied against the bannister and yawned. "Doesn't look to have budged an inch since last I set eyes on her." She smiled. "Then that must mean we're nearing Tortuga. By the map, I remember it's just off the north coast, around latitude twenty." "Aye, we'll likely be raisin' the old 'Turtle' any time now. Though in truth I'd as soon ne'er see the place again." "Why do you say that?" "'Tis home and hearth of the finest assembly of thieves as you're e'er like to cross this side of Newgate prison. An' that's the fact of the matter." "Are you trying to make me believe you've actually been there, John?" She regarded him carefully. John Mewes, she had come to realize, was never at a loss for a story to share--though his distinction between truth and fancy was often imprecise. "Aye,'twas some years past, as the sayin' goes. When the merchantman I was quartermaster on put in for a week to careen." He spat into the sea and hitched up the belt on his breeches. "What exactly was it like?" "A brig out of Portsmouth. A beamy two master, with damn'd seams that'd opened on us wide as a Dutch whore's cunny--beggin' Yor Ladyship's pardon--which is why we had to put in to caulk her . . ." "Tortuga, John." "Aye, the Turtle. Like I was sayin', she's the Sodom of the Indies, make no mistake. Fair enough from afar, I grant you, but try and put in, an' you'll find out soon enough she's natural home for the rogue who'd as soon do without uninvited company. That's why that nest of pirates has been there so long right under the very nose of the pox- rotted Spaniards. Mind you, she's scarcely more than twenty or thirty miles tip to tip, but the north side's a solid cliff, lookin' down on the breakers, whilst the other's just about nothing save shallow flats an' mangrove thickets. There's only one bay where you can put in with a frigate, a spot called Basse Terre, there on the south--that is, if you can steer through the reefs that line both sides of the channel goin' into it. But once you're anchored,'tis a passing good harbor, for it all. Fine sandy bottom, with draft that'll take a seventy-gun brig." "So that's how the Cow-Killers . . . the buccaneers have managed to keep the island? There's only one spot the Spaniards could try and land infantry, and to get there you've got to go through a narrow passage in the reefs, easy to cover with cannon?" "I'd say that's about the size of it. No bottom drops anchor at Tortuga unless those rogues say you aye." He turned and began to secure a loose piece of line dangling from the shroud supporting the mizzenmast. "Then too there's your matter of location. You see, m'lady, the island lays right athwart the Windward Passage, betwixt Hispaniola and Cuba, which is one of the Spaniards' main shippin' lanes. Couldn't be handier if you're thinkin' to lighten a Papist merchantman now and again. . . ." Mewes' voice trailed off as he glanced up to see Winston emerge at the head of the companionway, half asleep and still shirtless under his jerkin. Following after him was Atiba, wearing a pair of ill-fitting seaman's breeches, his bare shoulders glistening in the sun's early glow. When he spotted Mewes, he gave a solemn bow, Yoruba style. "_Ku abo_, senhor." "Aye, _qu ava_ it is." Mewes nodded back, then turned to Katherine. "Now, for your edification that means 'greetings,' or such like. Since I've been teachin' him English, I've been pickin' up a few of the finer points of that African gabble of his, what with my natural gift for language." "God's life, you are learning fastly, Senhor Mewes." Atiba smiled. "And since you are scholaring my tongue so well, mayhaps I should cut some of our clan marks on your mug, like mine. It is a damnable great ceremony of my country." "Pox on your 'damnable great ceremonies.'" Mewes busied himself with the shroud. "I'll just keep my fine face the way it is, and thank you kindly all the same." Winston sleepily kissed Katherine on the forehead. She gave him a long hug, then pointed toward the south. "John claims that's Hispaniola." "One and the same. The queen of the Greater Antilles. Take a good look, Katy. I used to hunt cattle in those very woods. That mountain range over in mid-island means we should raise Tortuga any time now." He turned and began unlashing the whipstaff, then motioned Atiba forward. "Want to try the helm for a while? To get the feel of her?" "My damnable shoulder is good, senhor. I can set a course with this stick, or cut by a sword, as better than ever." "We'll see soon enough." He watched Atiba grasp the long hardwood lever and test it. "I just may need you along to help me reason with my old friend Jacques." "Hugh, tell me some more about what he's like." Katherine took another look at the hazy outline of Hispaniola, then moved alongside them. "Jacques le Basque?" Winston smiled and thought back. Nobody knew where Jacques was from, or who he was. They were all refugees from some other place, and most went by assumed names--even he had been known simply as "Anglais." "I'd guess he's French, but I never really knew all that much about him, though we hunted side by side for a good five years." He thumbed toward the green mountains. "But I can tell you one thing for sure: Jacques le Basque created a new society on northern Hispaniola, and Tortuga." "What do you mean?" "Katy, you talked about having an independent nation in the Americas, a place not under the thumb of Europe? Well, he made one right over there. We _boucaniers_ were a nation of sorts--shipwrecked seamen, runaway indentures, half of them with jail or a noose waiting in one of the other settlements. But any man alive was welcome to come and go as he liked." Katherine examined his lined face. "Hugh, you told me you once tried to kill Jacques over some misunderstanding. But you never explained exactly what it was about." Winston fell silent and the only sound was the lap of waves against the bow. Maybe, he told himself, the time has come. He took a deep breath and turned to her. "Remember how I told you the Spaniards came and burned out the Providence Company's English settlement on Tortuga? As it happened, I was over on Hispaniola with Jacques at the time or I probably wouldn't be here now. Well, the Spaniards stayed around for a week or so, and troubled to hang some of Jacques's lads who happened in with a load of hides. When we found out about it, he called a big parlay over what we ought to do. All the hunters came--French, English, even some Dutchmen. Every man there hated the Spaniards, and we decided to pull together what cannon were left and fortify the harbor at Basse Terre, in case they got a mind to come back." "And?" "Then after some time went by Jacques got the idea we ought not just wait for them. That wed best try and take the fight back. So he sent word around the north side of Hispaniola that any man who wanted to help should meet him on Tortuga. When everybody got there, he announced we needed to be organized, like the Spaniards. Then he stove open a keg of brandy and christened us Les Freres de la Cote, the Brotherhood of the Coast. After we'd all had a tankard or two, he explained he wanted to try and take a Spanish ship." "You mean he sort of declared war on Spain?" "As a matter of fact, that's how it turned out." He smiled. "Jacques said we'd hunted the Spaniards' cattle long enough; now we would hunt the whoreson Spaniards themselves. We'd sail under our old name of _boucanier_, and he swore that before we were through nobody would remember the time it only meant cow hunters. We'd make it the most dreaded word a Spaniard could hear." John Mewes was squinting toward the west now, past the bowsprit. Abruptly he secured a last knot in the shroud, then headed down the companionway and past the seamen loitering by the mainmast. "And that was the beginning? When the Cow-Killers became sea rovers and pirates?" For some reason the story made her vaguely uneasy. "You were actually there? A part of it?" "I was there." Winston paused to watch Mewes. "So then you . . . joined them?" "No particular reason not to. The damned Spaniards had just murdered some of ours, Katy, not to mention about six hundred English settlers. I figured why not give them a taste back? Besides, it looked to be the start of a grand adventure. We got together as many arms as we could muster, muskets and axes, and put to sea. Us against the Spaniards . . ." "Cap'n, care to come forward an' have a look?" Mewes was pointing at the dark green hump that had just appeared on the horizon. "That looks to be her, if I'm not amiss." Winston turned to study the sea ahead of them. Just above the surface of the sea was the tip of a large hump, deep green like a leatherback turtle. "Aye. Maybe youd best order all hands to station for the afternoon watch, John." He reached back and kissed Katherine lightly. "Katy, the rest of this little tale will have to wait. We've got to get ready now. In truth, I don't exactly know how pleased my old friend Jacques is going to be seeing me again after all these years." As she watched him head down the companionway, she felt a curious mixture of excitement and unease. Now, all at once, she was wondering if she really did want to know what Hugh had been like back then. Perhaps, she told herself, there are some things better just forgotten. _"Bon soir, Capitaine_." A young man carrying a candle-lantern was standing at the water's edge to greet their longboat as Winston, John Mewes, and Atiba, backed by five seamen with flintlocks, rowed in to the shallows. "Tibaut de Fontenay, _a votre service, Messieurs_. We spotted your mast lights from up at the Forte. Since you seemed to know the reefs, we assumed you had been here before. So you are welcome." He appeared to be in his early twenties and was attired lavishly--a plumed hat topped his long curls, his long velvet waistcoat was parted rakishly to display an immaculate white cravat, and high, glistening boots shaped his calves. The dull glow of the lantern illuminated an almost obsequious grin. Around them the dark outlines of a dozen frigates nodded in the light swell, while lines of foam, sparkling in the moonlight, chased up the shore. The _Defiance_ had been the last vessel to navigate Basse Terre's narrow channel of reefs before the quick Caribbean dusk descended. "The name is Winston. Master of the _Defiance_." He slid over the gunwale of the longboat and waded through the light surf. "Late of Barbados and Nevis." "_Bienvenue_." The man examined him briefly, then smiled again as he extended his hand and quickly shifted to heavily-accented English. "Your affairs, _Capitaine_, are of course no concern to us here. Any man who comes in peace is welcome at La Tortue, in the name of His Majesty, King Louis Quatorze of France." "What the devil!" Winston drew back his hand and stared up at the lantern-lit assemblage of taverns along the shore. "Tortuga is French now?" "_Mais oui_, for the better part of a year. The _gouverneur_ of St. Christophe--the French side--found it necessary to dispatch armed frigates and take this island under his authority. The Anglais _engages_ planting here were sent on their way; they are fortunate we did not do worse. But ships of all nations are always invited to trade for our fine hides, brasil wood for making dye, and the most succulent _viande fumee_ you will taste this side of Paris." He bowed lightly, debonairly. "Or Londres. We also have a wide assortment of items in Spanish gold for sale here--and we have just received a shipload of lovely mademoiselles from Marseilles to replace the diseased English whores who had come near to ruining this port's reputation." "We don't need any provisions, and we don't have time for any entertainment this stop. The _Defiance_ is just passing through, bound for the Windward Passage. I'd thought to put in for tonight and have a brandy with an old friend. Jacques le Basque. Know if he's around?" "My master?" The man quickly raised his lantern to scrutinize Winston's face. "He does not normally receive visitors at the Forte, but you may send him your regards through me. I will be happy to tell him a Capitaine Winston ..." "What in hell are you talking about? What 'fort' is that?" "Forte de la Roche, 'the fort on the rock,' up there." He turned to point through the dark. On a hill overlooking the harbor a row of torches blazed, illuminating a battery of eighteen-pound culverin set above a high stone breastwork. "When was that built? It wasn't here before." "Only last year, Capitaine. Part of our new fortifications. It is the residence of our _commandant de place_. "Your _commandant_ . . ." Winston stopped dead still. "You've got a governor here now?" "_Oui_." He smiled. "In fact, you are fortunate. He is none other than your friend Jacques. He was appointed to the post last year by the Chevalier de Poncy of St. Christophe, administrator of all our French settlements in the Caribbean." He examined the men in the longboat, his glance anxiously lingering on Atiba, who had a shiny new cutlass secured at his waist. "May I take it you knew Jacques well?" "I knew him well enough in the old days, back before he arranged to have himself appointed governor. But then I see times have changed." "Many things have changed here, Capitaine." "I'll say they have." Winston signaled for Atiba to climb out of the longboat. "But my friend and I are going up to this 'Forte' and pay a visit to Commandant le Basque, and you can save your messages and diplomatic papers. He knows who I am." De Fontenay stiffened, not quite sure how to reply. As he did, a band of seamen emerged out of the dark and came jostling down the sandy shore toward them, carrying candle-lanterns and tankards and singing an English chantey with convivial relish. _". . . We took aboard the Captain's daughter, And gave her fire 'twixt wind and water . . ." _ Several were in pairs, their arms about each other's shoulders. All were garbed in a flamboyant hodgepodge of European fashions--gold rings and medallions, stolen from the passengers of Spanish merchant frigates, glistened in the lantern light. Most wore fine leather sea boots; a few were barefoot. The man at their head was carrying a large keg. When he spotted the bobbing longboat, he motioned the procession to a halt, tossed the keg onto the sand, and sang out an invitation. "Welcome to you, masters. There's a virgin pipe of Spanish brandy here we're expectin' to violate. We'd not take it amiss if you'd help us to our work." He drew a pistol from his belt and swung its gold-trimmed butt against the wooden stopper in the bunghole, knocking it inward. "_No, Monsieur. Merci. Bien des remerciements_." De Fontenay's voice betrayed a faint quaver. "I regret we have no time. I and my good friend, the Anglais here . . ." "I wasn't asking you to drink, you arse-sucking French pimp." The man with the pistol scowled as he recognized de Fontenay. "I'd not spare you the sweat off my bollocks if you were adyin' of thirst." He turned toward Winston. "But you and your lads are welcome, sir, whoever you might be. I'll wager no honest Englishman ever declined a cup in good company. My name is Guy Bartholomew, and if you know anything of this place, you'll not have to be told I'm master of the _Swiftsure_, the finest brig in this port." Winston examined him in the flickering light. Yes, it was Guy Bartholomew all right. He'd been one of the original _boucaniers_, and he'd hated Jacques from the first. "Permit me to introduce Capitaine Winston of the _Defiance_, Messieurs." De Fontenay tried to ignore Bartholomew's pistol. "He has asked me personally to . . ." "Winston? The _Defiance_? God's wounds." Bartholomew doffed his black hat. "Let me drink to your good health. Captain." He paused to fill his tankard with the dark brown liquid spilling from the keg, then hoisted it in an impromptu toast. "You don't remember me from before, Bartholomew? Back on Hispaniola?" The boucanier stared at him drunkenly. "No, sir. I can't rightly say as I do. But yours is a name known well enough in this part of the world, that's for certain. You wouldn't be planning to do a bit of sailing from this port, would you now? 'Twould be a pleasure to have you amongst us." "Monsieur," De Fontenay was edging on up the hill, "Capitaine Winston is a personal friend of our commandant, and we must . . ." "A friend of Jacques?" Bartholomew studied Winston's face. "I'd not believe any such damn'd lies and calumnies of an honest Englishman like you, sir." "I knew him many years past, Bartholomew. I hope he remembers me better than you do. Though I'm not sure he still considers me a friend after our little falling out." "Well, sir, I can tell you this much. Things have changed mightily since the old days. Back then he only stole from the pox-eaten Spaniards. Now he and that French bastard de Poncy rob us all. They take a piece of all the Spaniards' booty we bring in, and then Jacques demands another ten percent for himself, as his 'landing fee.' He even levies a duty on all the hides the hunters bring over from Hispaniola to sell." De Fontenay glared. "There must always be taxes, anywhere. Jacques is commandant now, and the Chevalier de Poncy has ..." "Commandant?" Bartholomew snorted. "My lads have another name for him, sir. If he ever dared come down here and meet us, the Englishmen in this port would draw lots to see who got the pleasure of cutting his throat. He knows we can't sail from any other settlement. It's only because he's got those guns up there at the fort, covering the bay, and all his damned guards, that he's not been done away with long before now." He turned back to Winston. "The bastard's made himself a dungeon up there beneath the rock, that he calls Purgatory. Go against him and that's where you end up. Few men have walked out of it alive, I'll tell you that." De Fontenay shifted uneasily and toyed with a curl. "Purgatory will not be there forever, I promise you." "So you say. But you may just wind up there yourself one day soon, sir, and then we'll likely hear you piping a different tune. Even though you are his _matelot_, which I'll warrant might more properly be called his whore." "What I am to Jacques is no affair of yours." "Aye, I suppose the goings-on in the fort are not meant to be known to the honest ships' masters in this port. But we still have eyes, sir, for all that. I know you're hoping that after Jacques is gone, that Frenchman de Poncy will make you commandant of this place, this stinking piss-hole. Just because the Code of the _boucaniers_ makes you Jacques' heir. But it'll not happen, sir, by my life. Never." "Monsieur, enough._ Suffit_!" De Fontenay spat out the words, then turned back to Winston. "Shall we proceed up to the Forte?" He gestured toward the hill ahead. "Or do you intend to stay and spend the night talking with these Anglais _cochons_?" "My friend, do beware of that old bastard." Bartholomew caught Winston's arm, and his voice grew cautionary. "God Almighty, I could tell you such tales. He's daft as a loon these days. I'd be gone from this place in a minute if I could just figure how." "He tried to kill me once, Master Bartholomew, in a little episode you might recall if you set your mind to it. But I'm still around." Winston nodded farewell, then turned back toward the longboat. John Mewes sat nervously waiting, a flintlock across his lap. "John, take her on back and wait for us. Atiba's coming with me. And no shore leave for anybody till morning." "Aye." Mewes eyed the drunken seamen as he shoved off. "See you mind yourself, Cap'n. I'll expect you back by sunrise or I'm sendin' the lads to get you." "Till then." Winston gestured Atiba to move alongside him, then turned back to De Fontenay. "Shall we go." "_Avec plaisir, Capitaine_. These Anglais who sail for us can be most _dangereux_ when they have had so much brandy." The young Frenchman paused as he glanced uncertainly at Atiba. The tall African towered by Winston's side. "Will your . . . _gentilhomme de service_ be accompanying you?" "He's with me." "_Bon_. "He cleared his throat. "As you wish." He lifted his lantern and, leaving Bartholomew's men singing on the shore, headed up the muddy, torch-lit roadway leading between the cluster of taverns that comprised the heart of Basse Terre's commercial center. "How long has it been since you last visited us, Capitaine?" De Fontenay glanced back. "I have been _matelot_ to Jacques for almost three years, but I don't recall the pleasure of welcoming you before this evening." "It's been a few years. Back before Jacques became governor. " "Was this your home once, senhor?" Atiba was examining the shopfronts along the street, many displaying piles of silks and jewelry once belonging to the passengers on Spanish merchantmen. Along either side, patched-together taverns and brothels spilled their cacophony of songs, curses, and raucous fiddle music into the muddy paths that were streets. Winston laughed. "Well, it was scarcely like this. There used to be thatched huts along here and piles of hides and smoked beef ready for barter. All you could find to drink in those days was a tankard of cheap kill-devil. But the main difference is the fort up there, which is a noticeable improvement over that rusty set of culverin we used to have down along the shore." "I gather it must have been a very long time ago. Monsieur, that you were last here." De Fontenay was moving hurriedly past the rickety taverns, heading straight for the palm-lined road leading up the hill to the fort. "Probably some ten years or so." "Then I wonder if Jacques will still remember you." Winston laughed. "I expect he does." De Fontenay started purposefully up the road. About six hundred yards from the shoreline the steep slope of a hill began. The climb was long and tortuous, and the young Frenchman was breathing heavily by the time they were halfway up. "This place is damnable strong, senhor. Very hard to attack, even with guns." Atiba shifted the cutlass in his belt and peered up the hill, toward the line of torches. He was moving easily, his bare feet molding to the rough rock steps. "It could never be stormed from down below, that much is sure." Winston glanced back. "But we're not here to try and take this place. He can keep Tortuga and bleed it dry for all I care. I'll just settle for some of those men I saw tonight. If they want to part company with him . . ." "Those whoresons are not lads who fight," Atiba commented. "They are drunkards." "They can fight as well as they drink." Winston smiled. "Don't let the brandy fool you." "Your _brancos_ are a damnable curiosity, senhor." He grunted. "I am waiting to see how my peoples here live, the slaves." "The _boucaniers_ don't cut cane, so they don't have slaves." "Then mayhaps I will drink with them." "You'd best hold that till after we're finished with Jacques, my friend." Winston glanced up toward the fort. "Just keep I your cutlass handy." They had reached the curving row of steps that led through the arched gateway of the fortress. Above them a steep wall of cut stone rose up against the dark sky, and across the top, illuminated by torches, was the row of culverin. Sentries armed with flintlocks, in helmets and flamboyant Spanish coats, barred the gateway till de Fontenay waved them aside. Then guards inside unbolted the iron gate and they moved up the final stairway. Winston realized the fort had been built on a natural plateau, with terraces inside the walls which would permit several hundred musketmen to fire unseen down on the settlement below. From somewhere in the back he could hear the gurgle of a spring--meaning a supply of fresh water, one of the first requirements of a good fortress. Jacques had found a natural redoubt and fortified it brilliantly. All the settlement and the harbor now were under his guns. Only the mountain behind, a steep precipice, had any vantage over Forte de la Roche. "Senhor, what is that?" Atiba was pointing toward the massive boulder, some fifty feet wide and thirty feet high, that rested in the center of the yard as though dropped there by the hand of God. Winston studied it, puzzling, then noticed a platform atop the rock, with several cannon projecting out. A row of brick steps led halfway up the side, then ended abruptly. When they reached the base, de Fontenay turned back. "The citadel above us is Jacques's personal residence, what he likes to call his 'dovecote.' It will be necessary for you to wait here while I ask him to lower the ladder." "The ladder?" "_Mais oui_, a security measure. No one is allowed up there without his consent." He called up, identified himself, and after a pause the first rungs of a heavy iron ladder appeared through an opening in the platform. Slowly it began to be lowered toward the last step at the top of the stair. Again de Fontenay hesitated. "Perhaps it might be best if I go first, Messieurs. Jacques is not fond of surprises." "He never was." Winston motioned for Atiba to stay close. De Fontenay hung his lantern on a brass spike at the side of the stairs, then turned and lightly ascended the rungs. From the platform above, two musketmen covered his approach with flintlocks. He saluted them, then disappeared. As Winston waited, Atiba at his side, he heard a faint human voice, a low moaning sound, coming from somewhere near their feet. He looked down and noticed a doorway at the base of the rock, leading into what appeared to be an excavated chamber. The door was of thick hewn logs with only a small grate in its center. Was that, he wondered, the dungeon Bartholomew called Purgatory? Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of anger and betrayal at what Jacques had become. Whatever else he might have been, this was the man whose name once stood for freedom. And now . . . He was turning to head down and inspect Purgatory first-hand when a welcome sounded from the platform above. "_Mon ami! Bienvenue_, Anglais. _Mon Dieu, il y a tres long-temps!_ A good ten years, _n 'est-ce pas_?" A bearded face peered down, while a deep voice roared with pleasure. "Perhaps you've finally learned something about how to shoot after all this time. Come up and let me have a look at you." "And maybe you've improved your aim, Jacques. Your last pistol ball didn't get you a hide." Winston turned back and reached for the ladder. "_Oui_, truly it did not, Anglais. How near did I come?" He extended a rough hand as Winston emerged. "Close enough." Winston stepped onto the platform of the citadel. In the flickering torchlight he recognized the old leader of the _boucaniers_, now grown noticeably heavier; his thick beard, once black as onyx, was liberally threaded with white. He sported a ruffled doublet of red silk and had stuffed his dark calico breeches into bucket-top sea boots of fine Spanish leather. The gold rings on several fingers glistened with jewels, and the squint in his eyes was deep and malevolent. Le Basque embraced Winston, then drew back and studied his scar. "_Mon Dieu_, so I came closer than I thought. _Mes condoleances_. I must have been sleepy that morning. I'd fully intended to take your head." "How about some of your French brandy, you old _batard_? For me and my friend. By the look of things, I'd say you can afford it." "_Vraiment_. Brandy for the Anglais . . . and his friend." The boucanier nodded warily as he saw Atiba appear at the top of the ladder. After a moment's pause, he laughed again, throatily. "Truly I can afford anything. The old days are over. I'm rich. Many a Spaniard has paid for what they did to us back then." He turned and barked an order to de Fontenay. The young man bowed, then moved smoothly through the heavy oak doors leading into Jacques's residence. "You know, I still hear of you from time to time, Anglais. But never before have we seen you here, _n 'est-ce pas_? How have you been?" "Well enough. I see you've been busy yourself." Winston glanced up at the brickwork house Jacques had erected above the center of the rock. It was a true citadel. Along the edge of the platform, looking out, a row of nine-pound demi-culverin had been installed. "But what's this talk you chased off the English planters?" "They annoyed me. You know that never was wise. So I decided to be rid of them. Besides, it's better this way. A few were permitted to stay on and sail for me, but La Tortue must be French." He reached for a tankard from the tray de Fontenay was offering. "I persuaded our _gouverneur_ up on St. Christophe to send down a few frigates to help me secure this place." "Is that why you keep men in a dungeon up here? We never had such things in the old days." "My little Purgatory?" He handed the tankard to Winston, then offered one to Atiba. The Yoruba eyed him coldly and waved it away. Jacques shrugged, taking a sip himself before continuing. "Surely you understand the need for discipline. If these men disobey me, they must be dealt with. Otherwise, no one remembers who is in charge of this place." "I thought we'd planned to just punish the Spaniards, not each other." "But we are, Anglais, we are. Remember when I declared they would someday soil their breeches whenever they heard the word '_boucanier'_? Well, it's come true. They swear using my name. Half the time the craven bastards are too terrified to cock a musket when my men board one of their merchant frigates." He smiled. "Everything we wanted back then has come to pass. Sweet revenge." He reached and absently drew a finger down de Fontenay's arm. "But tell me, Anglais, have you got a woman these days? Or a _matelot_?" He studied Atiba. "An Englishwoman is sailing with me. She's down on the _Defiance_." "The _Defiance_?" "My Spanish brig." "_Oui_, but of course. I heard how you acquired it." He laughed and stroked his beard. "_Alors_, tomorrow you must bring this Anglaise of yours up and let me meet her. Show her how your old friend has made his way in the world." "That depends. I thought we'd empty a tankard or two tonight and talk a bit." "_Bon_. Nothing better." He signaled to de Fontenay for a refill, and the young man quickly stepped forward with the flask. "Tonight we remember old times." Winston laughed. "Could be there're a few things about the old days we'd best let be. So maybe I'll just work on this fine brandy of yours and hear how you're getting along these days with our good friends the Spaniards." "Ah, Anglais, we get on very well. I have garroted easily a hundred of those bastards for every one of ours they killed back then, and taken enough cargo to buy a kingdom. You know, if their Nuevo Espana Armada, the one that ships home silver from their mines in Mexico, is a week overdue making the Canary Islands, the King of Spain and all his creditors from Italy to France cannot shit for worrying I might have taken it. Someday, my friend, I will." "Good. I'll drink to it." Winston lifted his tankard. "To the Spaniards." Jacques laughed. "_Oui_. And may they always be around to keep me rich." "On that subject, old friend, I had a little project in mind. I was thinking maybe I'd borrow a few of your lads and stage a raid on a certain Spanish settlement." "Anglais, why would you want to bother? Believe me when I tell you there's not a town on the Main I could not take tomorrow if I choose. But they're mostly worthless." He drank again, then rose and strolled over to the edge of the platform. Below, mast lights were speckled across the harbor, and music drifted up from the glowing tavern windows. "By the time you get into one, the Spaniards have carried everything they own into the forest and emptied the place." "I'll grant you that. But did you ever consider taking one of their islands? Say . . . Jamaica?" "_Mon ami_, the rewards of an endeavor must justify the risk." Jacques strolled back and settled heavily into a deep leather chair. "What's over there? Besides their militia?" "They've got a fortress and a town, Villa de la Vega, and there's bound to be a bit of coin, maybe even some plate. But the harbor's the real . . ." "_Oui, peut-etre_. Perhaps there's a sou or two to be had there somewhere. But why trouble yourself with a damned militia when there're merchantmen plying the Windward Passage day in and day out, up to their gunwales with plate, pearls from their oyster beds down at Margarita, even silks shipped overland from those Manila galleons that put in at Acapulco . . .?" "You know an English captain named Jackson took that fortress a few years back, and ransomed it for twenty thousand pieces-of-eight? That's a hundred and sixty thousand _reals_. " "Anglais, I also know very well they have a battery of guns in that fort, covering the harbor. It wouldn't be all that simple to storm." "As it happens, I've taken on a pilot who knows that harbor better than you know the one right down below, and I'm thinking I might sail over and see it." Winston took another swallow. "You're welcome to send along some men if you like. I'll split any metal money and plate with them." "Forget it. Anglais. None of these men will . . ." "Wait a minute, Jacques. You don't own them. That was never the way. So if some of these lads decide to sail with me, that's their own affair." "My friend, why do you think I am the _commandant de place_ if I do not command? Have you seen those culverin just below us, trained on the bay? No frigate enters Basse Terre--or leaves it--against my will. Even yours, _mon ami_. Don't lose sight of that." "I thought you were getting smarter than you used to be, Jacques." "Don't try and challenge me again, Anglais." Jacques's hand had edged slowly toward the pistol in his belt, but then he glanced at Atiba and hesitated. "Though it's not my habit to kill a man while he's drinking my brandy." He smiled suddenly, breaking the tension, and leaned back. "It might injure my reputation for hospitality." "When I'm in the fortress overlooking Jamaica Bay one day soon, I'll try and remember to drink your health." "You really think you can do it, don't you?" He sobered and studied Winston. "It's too easy not to. But I told you we could take it as partners, together." "Anglais, I'm not a fool. You don't have the men to manage it alone. So you're hoping I'll give you some of mine." "I don't want you to 'give' me anything, you old whoremaster. I said we would take it together. "Forget it. I have better things to do." He smiled. "But all the same, it's always good to see an old friend again. Stay a while. Anglais. What if tomorrow night we feasted like the old days, _boucanier_ style? Why not show your _femme_ how we used to live?" "Jacques, we've got victuals on the _Defiance_." "Is that what you think of me?" He sighed. "That I would forgo this chance to relive old times? Bring this _petite_ Anglaise of yours up and let her meet your old _ami_. I knew you before you were sure which end of a musket to prime. I watched you bring down your first wild boar. And now, when I welcome you and yours with open arms, you scorn my generosity." "We're not finished with this matter of the Spaniards, my friend." "_Certainement_. Perhaps I will give it some consideration. We can think about it tomorrow night, while we all share some brandy and dine on _barbacoa_, same as the old days. As long as I breathe, nothing else will ever taste quite so good." He motioned for de Fontenay to lower the iron ladder. "We will remember the way we used to live. In truth. I even think I miss it at times. Life was simpler then." "Things don't seem so simple around here any more, Jacques." "But we can remember, my friend. Humility. It nourishes the soul." "To old times then, Jacques." He drained his tankard and signaled for Atiba. "Tomorrow." "_Oui_, Anglais. _A demain_. And my regards to your friend here with the cutlass." He smiled as he watched them start down the ladder. "But why don't you ask him to stay down there tomorrow? I must be getting old, because that sword of his is starting to make me nervous. And we wouldn't want anything to upset our little _fete_, now would we, _mon frere_?" * * * * * Katherine stood at the bannister amidships. Serina by her side, and studied the glimmer of lights along the shore, swaying clusters of candle-lanterns as seamen passed back and forth in longboats between the brothels of Tortuga and their ships. The buccaneers. They lived in a world like none she had ever seen. As the shouts, curses, songs, and snatches of music drifted out over the gentle surf, she had to remind herself that this raffish settlement was the home of brigands unwelcome in any other place. Yet from her vantage now, they seemed like harmless, jovial children. Still, anchored alongside the _Defiance_ were some of the most heavily armed brigantines in the New World--no bottom here carried fewer than thirty guns. The men, too, were murderers, who killed Spanish civilians as readily as infantry. Jacques le Basque presided over the most dreaded naval force in the New World. He had done more to endanger Spain's fragile economy than all the Protestant countries together. If they grew any stronger, the few hundred men on this tiny island might well so disrupt Spain's vital lifeline of silver from the Americas as to bankrupt what once had been Europe's mightiest empire. . . . The report of a pistol sounded from somewhere along the shore, followed by yells of glee and more shots. Several men in Spanish finery had begun firing into the night to signal the commencement of an impromptu celebration. As they marched around a keg of liquor, a cluster of women, prostitutes from the taverns, shrieked in drunken encouragement and joined in the melee. "This place is very frightening, senhora." Serina shivered and edged next to Katherine. Her hair was tied in a kerchief, African style, as it had been for all the voyage. "I have never seen _branco_ like these. They seem so crazy, so violent." "Just be thankful we're not Spaniards, or we'd find out just how violent they really are." "Remember I once lived in Brazil. We heard stories about this place." "'Tis quite a sight, Yor Ladyships." John Mewes had ambled over to the railing, beside them, to watch for Winston. "The damnedest crew of rogues and knaves you're ever like to make acquaintance with. Things've come to a sad pass that we've got to try recruitin' some of this lot to sail with us." "Do you think they're safe ashore, John?" "Aye, Yor Ladyship, on that matter I'd not trouble yourself unduly." Mewes fingered the musket he was holding. "You should've seen him once down at Curasao, when a gang of Dutch shippers didn't like the cheap price we was askin' for a load of kill-devil that'd fallen our way over at . . . I forget where. Threatened to board and scuttle us. So the Captain and me decided we'd hoist a couple of nine-pound demi's up on deck and stage a little gunnery exercise on a buoy floatin' there on the windward side o' the harbor. After we'd laid it with a couple of rounds, blew it to hell, next thing you know the Butterboxes . . ." "John, what's that light over there? Isn't that him?" Mewes paused and stared. At the shoreline opposite their anchorage a lantern was flashing. "Aye, m'lady. That's the signal, sure enough." He smiled. "Didn't I tell you there'd be nothing to worry over." With an exhale of relief, he quickly turned and ordered the longboat lowered, assigning four men to the oars and another four to bring flintlocks. The longboat lingered briefly in the surf at the shore, and moments later Winston and Atiba were headed back toward the ship. "It seems they are safe, senhora." Serina was still watching with worried eyes. "Perhaps these _branco_ are better than those on Barbados." "Well, I don't think they have slaves, if that's what you mean. But that's about all you can say for them." A few moments later the longboat bumped against the side of the _Defiance_, and Winston was pulling himself over the bulwarks, followed by Atiba. "Katy, break out the tankards. I think we can deal with Jacques." He offered her a hug. "He's gone half mad--taken over the island and run off the English settlers. But there're plenty of English _boucaniers_ here who'd like nothing better than to sail from somewhere else." "Did he agree to help us?" "Of course not. You've got to know him. It's just what I expected. When I brought up our little idea, he naturally refused point-blank. But he knows there're men here who'll join us if they like. Which means that tomorrow he'll claim it was his idea all along, then demand the biggest part of what we take for himself." "Tomorrow?" "I'm going back up to the fort, around sunset, to sort out details." "I wish you wouldn't." She took his hand. "Why don't we just get whatever men we can manage and leave?" "That'd mean a fight." He kissed her lightly. "Don't worry. I'll handle Jacques. We just have to keep our wits." "Well then, I want to go with you." "As a matter of fact he did ask you to come. But that's out of the question." "It's just as dangerous for you as for me. If you're going back, then so am I." "Katy, no . . ." "Hugh, we've done everything together this far. So if you want to get men from this place, then I'll help you. And if that means I have to flatter this insane criminal, so be it." He regarded her thoughtfully, then smiled. "Well, in truth I'm not sure a woman can still turn his head, but I suppose you can give it a try." Serina approached them and reached to touch Winston's hand. "Senhor, was your council of war a success?" "I think so. All things in time." "The branco in this place are very strange. Is it true they do not have slaves?" "Slaves, no. Though they do have a kind of servant here, but even that's different from Barbados." "How so, senhor?" "Well, there've never been many women around this place. So in the old days a _boucanier_ might acquire a _matelot_, to be his companion, and over the years the _matelots_ got to be more like younger brothers than indentures. They have legal rights of inheritance, for instance, since most _boucaniers_ have no family. A _boucanier_ and his _matelot_ are legally entitled to the other's property if one of them dies." He looked back toward the shore. "Also, no man has more than one _matelot_. In fact, if a _boucanier_ does marry a woman, his _matelot_ has conjugal rights to her too." "But, senhor, if the younger man, the _matelot_, inherits everything, what is to keep him from just killing the older man? To gain his freedom, and also the other man's property?" "Honor." He shrugged and leaned back against the railing, inhaling the dense air of the island. He lingered pensively for a moment, then turned to Katherine. "Katy, do remember this isn't just any port. Some of those men out there have been known to shoot somebody for no more cause than a tankard of brandy. And underneath it all, Jacques is just like the rest. It's when he's most cordial that you'd best beware." "I still want to go." She moved next to him. "I'm going to meet face- to-face with this madman who once tried to kill you." Chapter Twenty-one The ochre half-light of dusk was settling over the island, lending a warm tint to the deep green of the hillside forests surrounding Forte de la Roche. In the central yard of the fortress, directly beneath le Basque's "dovecote," his uniformed guards loitered alongside the row of heavy culverin, watching the mast lights of anchored frigates and brigantines nod beneath the cloudless sky. Tibaut de Fontenay had taken no note of the beauty of the evening. He was busy tending the old-fashioned _boucan _Jacques had ordered constructed just behind the cannon. Though he stood on the windward side, he still coughed occasionally from the smoke that threaded upward, over the "dovecote" and toward the hill above. The _boucan _itself consisted of a rectangular wooden frame supporting a greenwood grill, set atop four forked posts. Over the frame and grill a thatchwork of banana leaves had been erected to hold in the piquant smoke of the smoldering naseberry branches beneath. Several haunches of beef lay flat on the grill, and now the fire was coating them with a succulent red veneer. It was the traditional Taino Indian method of cooking and preserving meat, _barbacoa_, that had been adopted intact by the boucaniers decades before. Jacques leaned against the railing at the edge of the platform above, pewter tankard in hand, contentedly stroking his salt-and-pepper beard as he gazed out over the harbor and the multihued sunset that washed his domain in misty ambers. Finally, he turned with a murmur of satisfaction and beckoned for Katherine to join him. She glanced uneasily toward Winston, then moved to his side. "The aroma of the _boucan_. Mademoiselle, was always the signal the day was ending." He pointed across the wide bay, toward the green mountains of Hispaniola. "Were we over there tonight, with the hunters, we would still be scraping the last of the hides now, while our _boucan _finished curing the day's kill for storing in our banana-leaf _ajoupa_." He smiled warmly, then glanced down to see if her tankard required attention. "Though, of course, we never had such a charming Anglaise to leaven our rude company." "I should have thought, Monsieur le Basque, you might have preferred a Frenchwoman." Katherine studied him, trying to imagine the time when he and Hugh had roamed the forests together. Jacques le Basque, for all his rough exterior, conveyed an unsettling sensuality. She sensed his desire for her as he stood alongside, and when he brushed her hand, she caught herself trembling involuntarily. "You do me an injustice, Mademoiselle, to suggest I would even attempt passing such a judgment." He laughed. "For me, womankind is like a garden, whose flowers each have their own beauty. Where is the man who could be so dull as to waste a single moment comparing the deep hue of the rose to the delicate pale of the lily. The petals of each are soft, they both open invitingly at the touch." "Do they always open so easily, Monsieur le Basque?" "Please, you must call me Jacques." He brushed back a wisp of her hair and paused to admire her face in the light of the sunset. "It is ever a man's duty to awaken the beauty that lies sleeping in a woman's body. Too many exquisite creatures never realize how truly lovely they are." "Do those lovely creatures include handsome boys as well?" She glanced down at de Fontenay, his long curls lying tangled across his delicate shoulders. Jacques drank thoughtfully from his tankard. "Mademoiselle, there is something of beauty in all God's work. What can a man know of wine if he samples only one vineyard?" "A woman might say, Jacques, it depends on whether you prefer flowers, or wine." "_Touche_, Mademoiselle. But some of us have a taste for all of life. Our years here are so brief." As she stood beside him, she became conscious again of the short- barreled flintlock--borrowed from Winston's sea chest, without his knowing it--she had secreted in the waist of her petticoat, just below her low-cut bodice. Now it seemed so foolish. Why had Hugh painted Jacques as erratic and dangerous? Could it be because the old _boucanier_ had managed to better him in that pistol duel they once had, and he'd never quite lived it down? Maybe that was why he never seemed to get around to explaining what really happened that time. "Then perhaps you'll tell me how many of those years you spent hunting." She abruptly turned and gestured toward the hazy shoreline across the bay. Seen through the smoke of the _boucan_ below, Hispaniola's forests seemed endless, impenetrable. "Over there, on the big island?" "Ah, Mademoiselle, thinking back now it seems like forever. Perhaps it was almost that long." He laughed genially, then glanced toward Winston, standing at the other end of the platform, and called out, "Anglais, shall we tell your lovely mademoiselle something about the way we lived back in the old days?" "You can tell her anything you please, Jacques, just take care it's true." Winston was studying the fleet of ships in the bay below. "Remember this is our evening for straight talk." "Then I will try not to make it sound too romantic." Jacques chuckled and turned back. "Since the Anglais insists I must be precise, I should begin by admitting it was a somewhat difficult existence. Mademoiselle. We'd go afield for weeks at a time, usually six or eight of us together in a party--to protect ourselves should we blunder across some of the Spaniards' lancers, cavalry who roamed the island trying to be rid of us. In truth, we scarcely knew where we would bed down from one day to the next. . . ." Winston was only half listening as he studied the musket-men in the yard below. There seemed to be a restlessness, perhaps even a tension, about them. Was it the _boucan_? The bother of the smoke? Or was it something more? Some treachery in the making? He told himself to stay alert, that this was no time to be lulled by Jacques's famed courtliness. It could have been a big mistake not to bring Atiba, in spite of Jacques's demand he be left. "On most days we would rise at dawn, prime our muskets, then move out to scout for game. Usually one of us went ahead with the dogs. Before the Anglais came to live with us, that perilous assignment normally fell to me, since I had the best aim." He lifted the onion-flask of French brandy from the side of the veranda and replenished her tankard with a smooth flourish. "When you stalk the wild bull, the _taureau sauvage_, you'd best be able to bring him down with the first shot, or hope there's a stout tree nearby to climb." He smiled and thumbed toward Winston. "But after the Anglais joined us, we soon all agreed he should have the honor of going first with the dogs. We had discovered he was a born marksman." He toasted Winston with his tankard. "When the dogs had a wild bull at bay, the Anglais would dispatch it with his musket. Afterwards, one of our men would stay to butcher it and take the hide while the rest of us would move on, following him." "Then what?" She never knew before that Winston had actually been the leader of the hunt, their marksman. "Well, Mademoiselle, after the Anglais had bagged a bull for every man, we'd bring all the meat and hides back to the base camp, the rendezvous. Then we would put up a _boucan_, like the one down there below us now, and begin smoking the meat while we finished scraping the hides." He smiled through his graying beard. "You would scarcely have recognized the Anglais, or me, in those days, Mademoiselle. Half the time our breeches were so caked with blood they looked like we'd been tarred." He glanced back at the island. "By nightfall the _barbacoa_ would be finished, and we would eat some, then salt the rest and put it away in an _ajoupa_, together with the hides. Finally, we'd bed down beside the fire of the _boucan_, to smoke away the mosquitoes, sleeping in those canvas sacks we used to keep off ants. Then, at first light of dawn, we rose to go out again." "And then you would sell your . . . _barbacoa_ and hides here on Tortuga?" "Exactly, Mademoiselle. I see my old friend the Anglais has already told you something of those days." He smiled and caught her eye. "Yes, often as not we'd come back over here and barter with the ships that put in to refit. But then sometimes we'd just sell them over there. When we had a load, we would start watching for a sail, and if we saw a ship nearing the coast, we'd paddle out in our canoes . . ." "Canoes?" She felt the night grow chill. Suddenly a memory from long ago welled up again, bearded men firing on their ship, her mother falling. . . . "_Oui_, Mademoiselle. Dugout canoes. In truth they're all we had those days. We made them by hollowing out the heart of a tree, burning it away, just like the Indians on Hispaniola used to do." He sipped his brandy, then motioned toward Winston. "They were quite seaworthy, _n 'est-ce pas_? Enough so we actually used them on our first raid." He turned back. "Though after that we naturally had Spanish ships." "And where . . . was your first raid, Monsieur le Basque?" She felt her grip tighten involuntarily on the pewter handle of her tankard. "Did the Anglais never tell you about that little episode, Mademoiselle?" He laughed sarcastically. "No, perhaps it is not something he chooses to remember. Though at the time we thought we could depend on him. I have explained to you that no man among us could shoot as well as he. We wanted him to fire the first shot, as he did when we were hunting. Truly we had high hopes for him." Jacques drank again, a broad silhouette against the panorama of the sunset. "He told me how you got together to fight the Spaniards, but ..." "Did he? _Bon_." He paused to check the _boucan_ below them, then the men. Finally he shrugged and turned back. "It was the start of the legend of the _boucaniers_, Mademoiselle. And you can take pride that the Anglais was part of it. Few men are still alive now to tell that tale." "What happened to the others, Jacques?" Winston's voice hardened as he moved next to one of the nine-pound cannon. "I seem to remember there were almost thirty of us. Guy Bartholomew was on that raid, for one. I saw him down below last night. I knew a lot of those men well." "_Oui_, you had many friends. But after you . . . left us, a few unfortunate incidents transpired." Winston tensed. "Did the ship . . .?" "I discovered what can occur when there is not proper organization, Anglais. But now I am getting ahead of our story. Surely you remember the island we had encamped on. Well, we waited on that cursed sand spit several weeks more, hoping there would be another prize. But alas, we saw nothing, _rien_. Then finally one day around noon, when it was so hot you could scarcely breathe, we spied a Spanish sail--far at sea. By then all our supplies were down. We were desperate. So we launched our canoes and put to sea, with a vow we would seize the ship or perish trying." "And you took it?" Winston had set down his tankard on the railing and was listening intently. "_Mais oui_. But of course. Desperate men rarely fail. Later we learned that when the captain saw our canoes approaching he scoffed, saying what could a few dugouts do against his guns. He paid for that misjudgment with his life. We waited till dark, then stormed her. The ship was ours in minutes." "Congratulations." "Not so quickly, Anglais. Unfortunately, all did not go smoothly after that. Perhaps it's just as well you were no longer with us, _mon ami_. Naturally, we threw all the Spaniards overboard, crew and passengers. And then we sailed her back here, to Basse Terre. A three-hundred-ton brigantine. There was some plate aboard--perhaps the capitaine was hoarding it--and considerable coin among the passengers. But when we dropped anchor here, a misunderstanding arose over how it all was to be divided." He sighed. "There were problems. I regret to say it led to bloodshed." "What do you mean?" Winston glared at him. "I thought we'd agreed to split all prizes equally." He smiled patiently. "Anglais, think about it. How could such a thing be? I was the commander; my position had certain requirements. And to make sure the same question did not arise again, I created Articles for us to sail under, giving more to the ship's master. They specify in advance what portion goes to every man, from the maintop to the keel . . . though the commander and officers naturally must receive a larger share. . . ." "And what about now?" Winston interrupted. "Now that you Frenchmen have taken over Tortuga? I hear there's a new way to split any prizes the men bring in. Which includes you and Chevalier de Poncy." "Oui, conditions have changed slightly. But the men all understand that." "They understand these French culverin up here. _Mes compliments_. It must be very profitable for you and him." "But we have much responsibility here." He gestured toward the settlement below them. "I have many men under my authority." "So now that you've taken over this place and become commandant, it's not really like it used to be, when everybody worked for himself. Now there's a French administration. And that means extortion, though I suppose you call it taxes." "_Naturellement_." He paused to watch as de Fontenay walked to the edge of the parapet and glanced up at the mountain behind the fort. "But tonight we were to recall those old, happy days, Anglais, before the burden of all this governing descended on my unworthy shoulders. Your _jolie_ mademoiselle seems to take such interest in what happened back then." "I'd like to hear about what happened while Hugh was on that raid with you. You said he was to fire the first shot." "_Oui_." Jacques laughed. "And he did indeed pull the first trigger. I was truly sad to part with him at what was to be our moment of glory. But we had differences, I regret to say, that made it necessary . . ." "What do you mean?" She was watching Hugh's uneasiness as he glanced around the fort, suspecting he'd probably just as soon this story wasn't told. "We had carefully laid a trap to lure in a ship. Mademoiselle. Up in the Grand Caicos, using a fire on the shore." "_Where_?" "Some islands north of here. Where the Spaniards stop every year." Jacques continued evenly, "And our plan seemed to be working brilliantly. What's more, the Anglais here was given the honor of the first bullet." He sipped from his tankard. "But when a prize blundered into it, the affair turned bloody. Some of my men were killed, and I seem to recall a woman on the ship. I regret to say the Anglais was responsible." "Hugh, what . . . did . . . you . . . do?" She heard her tankard drop onto the boards. "To his credit, I will admit he at least helped us bait the hook, Mademoiselle." Jacques smiled. "Did you not, Anglais?" "That I did. Except it caught an English fish, instead of a Spaniard." Good Christ, no! Katherine sucked in her breath. The coldhearted bastard. I am glad I brought a pistol. Except it'll not be for Jacques le Basque. "I think you two had best spare me the rest of your heroic little tale, before I . . ." "But, Mademoiselle, the Anglais was our finest marksman. He could bring down a wild boar at three hundred paces." He toasted Winston with a long draught from his tankard. "Don't forget I had trained him well. We wanted him to fire the first shot. You should at least take pride in that, even if the rest does not redound entirely to his credit." "Hugh, you'd better tell me the truth. Right now." She moved toward him, almost quivering with rage. She felt her hand close about the grip of her pistol as she stood facing Winston, his scarred face impassive. "Did you fire on the ship?" "Mademoiselle, what does it matter now? All that is past, correct?" Jacques smiled as he strolled over. "Tonight the Anglais and I are once more Freres de la Cote, brothers in the honorable order of boucaniers." He patted Winston's shoulder. "That is still true, _n'est-ce pas_? And together we will mount the greatest raid ever--on the Spanish island of Jamaica." Winston was still puzzling over Katherine's sudden anger when he finally realized what Jacques had said. So, he thought, the old _batard_ wants to give me the men after all. Just as I'd figured. Now it's time to talk details. "Together, Jacques. But remember I'm the one who has the pilot, the man who can get us into the harbor. So that means I set the terms." He sipped from his tankard, feeling the brandy burn its way down. "And since you seem to like it here so much, I'll keep the port for myself, and we'll just draw up some of those Articles of yours about how we manage the rest." "But of course, Anglais. I've already been thinking. Perhaps we can handle it this way: you keep whatever you find in the fortress, and my men will take the spoils from the town." "Wait a minute. The town's apt to have the most booty, you know that, Jacques." "Anglais, how can we possibly foretell such a thing in advance? Already I am assuming a risk . . ." Jacques smiled and turned to look down at the bay. As he moved, the railing he had been standing beside exploded, spewing slivers of mastic wood into the evening air. When he glanced back, startled, a faint pop sounded from the direction of the hill behind the fort. Time froze as a look of angry realization spread through the old boucaniers eyes. He checked the iron ladder, still lowered, then yelled for the guards below to light the linstocks for the cannon and ready their muskets. "Katy, take cover." Winston seized her arm and she felt him pull her against the side of the house, out of sight of the hill above. "Maybe Commandant le Basque is not quite so popular with some of his lads as he seems to think." "I can very well take care of myself. Captain. Right now I've a mind to kill you both." She wrenched her arm away and moved down the side of the citadel. "Katy, what . . .?" As Winston stared at her, uncomprehending, another musket ball from the dark above splattered into the post beside Jacques. He bellowed a curse, then drew the pistol from his belt and stepped into the protection of the roof. When he did, one of the guards from below, wearing a black hat and jerkin, appeared at the top of the iron ladder leading up from the courtyard. Jacques yelled for him to hurry. "Damn you, _vite_, there's some fool up the hill with a musket." Before he could finish, the man raised a long flintlock pistol and fired. The ball ripped away part of the ornate lace along one side of Jacques's collar. Almost before the spurt of flame had died away, Jacques's own pistol was cocked. He casually took aim and shot the guard squarely in the face. The man slumped across the edge of the opening, then slid backward and out of sight. "Anglais." He turned back coolly. "Tonight you have just had the privilege of seeing me remind these _cochons_ who controls this island." Even as he spoke, the curly head of de Fontenay appeared through the opening. When Jacques saw him, he beckoned him forward. "Come on, and pull it up after you. Too many killings will upset my guests' dinner." The young Frenchman stepped slowly onto the platform, then slipped his right hand into his ornate doublet and lifted out a pistol. He examined it for a moment before reaching down with his left and extracting another. "I said to pull up the ladder, damn you. That's an order." De Fontenay began to back along the railing, all the while staring at Jacques with eyes fearful and uncertain. Finally he summoned the courage to speak. "You are a _bete_, Jacques, truly a beast." His voice trembled, and glistening droplets of sweat had begun to bead on his smooth forehead. "We are going to open Purgatory and release the men you have down there. Give me the keys, or I will kill you myself, I swear it." "You'd do well to put those guns away, you little _fou_. Before I become annoyed." Jacques glared at him a moment, then turned toward Winston, his voice even. "Anglais, kindly pass me one of your pistols. Or I will be forced to kill this little _putain_ and all the rest with my own bare hands. I would regret having to soil them." "You'd best settle this yourself, Jacques. I keep my pistols. Besides, maybe you should open that new dungeon of yours. We never needed anything like that in the old days." "Damn you, Anglais." His voice hardened. "I said give me a gun." At that moment, another guard from below appeared at the opening. With a curse, Jacques stepped over and shoved a heavy boot into his face, sending the startled man sprawling backward. Then he seized the iron ladder and drew it up, beyond reach of those below. He ignored de Fontenay as he turned back to Winston. "Are you defying me too, Anglais? _Bon_. Because before this night is over, I have full intention of settling our accounts." "Jacques, _mon ami!_" Winston laughed. "Here all this time I thought we were going to be _freres_ again." He sobered. "Though I would prefer going in partners with a commander who can manage his own men." "You mean this little one?" He thumbed at de Fontenay. "Believe me when I tell you he does not have the courage of--" Now de Fontenay was raising the pistol in his right hand, shakily. "I said to give us the keys, Jacques. You have gone too far." "You will not live that long, my little _matelot_, to order me what to do." Jacques feigned a menacing step toward him. Startled, de Fontenay edged backward, and Jacques erupted with laughter, then turned back to Winston. "You see, Anglais? Cowards are all the same. Remember when you wanted to kill me? You were point-blank, and you failed. Now this little _putain_ has the same idea." He seized Winston's jerkin. "Give me one of your guns, Anglais, or I will take it with my own hands." "No!" At the other end of the citadel Katherine stood holding the pistol she had brought. She was gripping it with both hands, rock steady, aimed at them. Slowly she moved down the porch. "I'd like to just be rid of you both. Which one of you should I kill?" The old boucanier stared at her as she approached, then at Winston. "Your Anglaise has gone mad." "I was on that English ship you two are so proud of attacking." She directed the flintlock toward Winston. "Hugh, the woman you remember killing--she was my mother." The night flared with the report of a pistol, and Jacques flinched in surprise. He glanced down curiously at the splotch of red blossoming against the side of his silk shirt, then looked up at de Fontenay. "That was a serious mistake, my little _ami_. One you will not live long enough to regret." The smoking pistol de Fontenay held dropped noisily onto the boards at his feet, while he raised the other. "I said give to me the keys, Jacques. Or I will kill you, I swear it." "You think I can be killed? By you? _Jamais_." He laughed, then suddenly reached out and wrenched away the pistol Katherine was holding, shoving her aside. With a smile he aimed it directly at de Fontenay's chest. "Now, mon ami . . ." There was a dead click, then silence. It had misfired. "I don't want this, Jacques, truly." De Fontenay started to tremble, and abruptly the other pistol he held exploded with a pink arrow of flame. "Anglais . . ." Jacques jerked lightly, a second splotch of red spreading across his pale shirt. Then he dropped to one knee with a curse. De Fontenay stepped hesitantly forward. "Perhaps now you will understand, _mon maitre_, what kind of man I can be." He watched in disbelief as Jacques slowly slumped forward across the boards at his feet. Then he edged closer to where the old boucanier lay, reached down and ripped away a ring of heavy keys secured to his belt. He held them a moment in triumph before he looked down again, suddenly incredulous. "_Mon Dieu_, he is dead." With a cry of remorse he crouched over the lifeless figure and lovingly touched the bloodstained beard. Finally he remembered himself and glanced up at Winston. "It seems I have finished what you began. He told me today how you two quarreled once. He cared nothing for us, you or me, friend or lover." He hesitated, and his eyes appeared to plead. "What do we do now?" Winston was still staring at Katherine, his mind flooded with dismay at the anger in her eyes. At last he seemed to hear de Fontenay and turned back. "Since you've got his keys, you might as well go ahead and throw them down. I assume you mean to open the dungeon." "_Oui_. He had begun to lock men there just on his whim. Yesterday he even imprisoned a . . . special friend of mine. It was too much." He walked to the edge of the platform and flung the ring of keys down toward the pavement of the fort. As the ring of metal against stone cut through the silence, he yelled out, "Purgatory is no more. Jacques le Basque is in hell." He abruptly turned and shoved down the ladder. In the courtyard below, pandemonium erupted. At once a cannon blazed into the night. Then a second, and a third. Moments later, jubilant musket fire sounded up from the direction of the settlement as men poured into the streets, torches and lanterns blazing. "Good God, Katy, I don't know what you've been thinking, but we'd best talk about it later. Right now we've got to get out of here." Winston walked hesitantly to where she stood. "Somebody's apt to get a mind to fire this place." "No, I don't . . ." "Katy, come on." He grabbed her arm. De Fontenay was still at the railing along the edge of the platform, as though not yet fully comprehending the enormity of his act. Below him a string of prisoners, still shackled, was being led from the dungeon beneath the "dovecote." Winston forcibly guided Katherine down the ladder and onto the stone steps below. Now guards had already begun dismantling the _boucan _with the butts of their muskets, sending sparks sailing upward into the night air. Then the iron gateway of the fortress burst open and a mob of seamen began pouring through, waving pistols and cheering. Finally one of them spotted Winston on the steps and pressed through the crowd. "God's blood, is it true?" Winston looked down and recognized Guy Bartholomew. "Jacques is dead." "An' they're all claiming you did it. That you came up here and killed the bastard. The very thing we all wanted, and you managed it." He reached up and pumped Winston's hand. "Maybe now I can stand you a drink. For my money, I say you should be new commandant of this piss- hole, by virtue of ridding the place of him." "I didn't kill him, Bartholomew. That 'honor' goes to his _matelot_. " The excited seaman scarcely paused. "'Tis no matter, sir. That little whore is nothing. I know one thing; every Englishman here'll sail for you, or I'm not a Christian." "Maybe we can call some of the ships' masters together and see what they want to do." "You can name the time, sir. And I'll tell you this: there're going to be a few changes around here, that I can warrant." He turned to look at the other men, several of whom were offering flasks of brandy to the prisoners. Around them, the French guards had remembered Jacques's store of liquor and were shoving past, headed up the ladder. In moments they were flinging down flasks of brandy. Bartholomew turned and gazed down toward the collection of mast lights below them. "There's scarcely an Englishman here who'd not have left that whoreson's service long ago, save there's no place else but Tortuga the likes of us can drop anchor. But now with him gone we can . . ." "Until further notice, this island is going to be under my administration, as representative of the Chevalier de Poncy, _gouverneur_ of St. Christophe." De Fontenay had appeared at the top of the steps and begun to shout over the tumult in the yard. His curls fluttered in the wind as he called for quiet. "By the Code of the boucaniers, the Telle Etoit la Coutume de la Cote, I am Jacques's legal heir. Which means I can claim the office of acting commandant de place. . . ." Bartholomew yelled up at him. "You can claim whatever you like, you pimp. But no Englishman'll sail for you, an' that's a fact. We'll spike these cannon if you're thinking to try any of the old tricks. It's a new day, by all that's holy." "What do you mean?" De Fontenay glanced down. "I mean from this day forth we'll sail for whatever master we've a mind to." De Fontenay called to Winston. "You saw who killed him, Monsieur. Tell them." He looked back toward Bartholomew. "This man knew Jacques better than any of you. His friend, the Anglais, from the very first days of the _boucaniers_. He will tell you the Code makes me . . ." "Anglais!" Bartholomew stared at Winston a moment, then a smile erupted across his hard face. "Good God, I do believe it is. You've aged mightily, lad, on my honor. Please take no offense I didn't recognize you before." "It's been a long time." "God's blood, none of us ever knew your Christian name. We all thought you dead after you and Jacques had that little shooting spree." He grasped Winston's hand. "Do you have any idea how proud we were of you? I tell you we all saw it when you pulled a pistol on that bastard. You may not know it, sir, but it was because of you his band of French rogues didn't rape that English frigate. All the Englishmen amongst us wanted to stop it, but we had no chance." He laughed. "In truth, sir, that was the start of all our troubles here. We never got along with the damn'd Frenchmen after that. Articles or no. "Hugh, what's he saying?" Katherine was staring at him. "What do you mean?" "Is it true you stopped Jacques and his men from taking our ship? The one you were talking about tonight?" "The idea was we were only to kill Spaniards. No Englishman had done anything to us. It wouldn't have been honorable. When Jacques didn't agree with me on that point, things got a little unpleasant. That's when somebody started firing on the ship." "Aye, the damn'd Frenchmen," Bartholomew interjected. "I was there, sir." "I'm sorry the rest of us didn't manage to warn you in time." Winston slipped his arm around her. Suddenly she wanted to smother him in her arms. "But do you realize you must have saved my life? They would have killed us all." "They doubtless would have. Eventually." He reached over and kissed her, then drew back and examined her. "Katy, I have a confession to make. I think I can still remember watching you. When I was in the longboat, trying to reach the ship. I think I fell in love with you that morning. With that brave girl who stood there at the railing, musket balls flying. I never forgot it, in all the years. My God, to think it was you." He held her against him for a moment, then lifted up her face. "Which also means I have you and yours to thank for trying to kill me, when I wanted to get out to where you were." "The captain just assumed you were one of them. I heard him talk about it after. Nobody had any idea . . ." She hugged him. "You and your 'honor.' You changed my life." "You and that ship sure as hell changed mine. After I fell in love with you, I damned near died of thirst in that leaky longboat. And then Ruyters . . ." "Capitaine, please tell them I was the one who shot Jacques. That I am now _commandant de place_." De Fontenay interrupted, his voice pleading. "That I have the authority to order them . . ." "You're not ordering anything, by Jesus. I'm about to put an end to any more French orders here and now." Bartholomew seized a burning stick from the fire in the boucan and flung it upward, onto the veranda of the "dovecote." A cheer went up from the English seamen clustered around, and before Jacques's French guards could stop them, they were flinging torches and flaming logs up into the citadel. "_Messieurs, no_. Please! _Je vous en prie. Non_!" De Fontenay stared up in horror. Tongues of flame began to lick at the edge of the platform. Some of the guards dropped their muskets and yelled to get buckets of water from the spring behind the rock. Then they thought better of it and started edging gingerly toward the iron gates leading out of the fortress and down the hill. The other guards who had been rifling the liquor came scurrying down the ladder, jostling de Fontenay aside. As Winston urged Katherine toward the gates, the young _matelot_ was still lingering forlornly on the steps, gazing up at the burning "dovecote." Finally, the last to leave Forte de la Roche, he sadly turned and made his way out. "Senhor, what is happening here?" Atiba was racing up the steps leading to the gate, carrying his cutlass. "I swam to shore and came fastly as I could." "There's been a little revolution up here, my friend. And I'll tell you something else. There's likely to be some gunpowder in that citadel. For those demi-culverin. I don't have any idea how many kegs he had, but knowing Jacques, there was enough." He took Katherine's hand. "It's the end for this place, that much you can be sure." "Hugh, what about the plan to use his men?" She turned back to look. "We'll just have to see how things here are going to settle out now. Maybe it's not over yet." They moved onto the tree-lined pathway. The night air was sharp, fragrant. Above the glow of the fire, the moon hung like a lantern in the tropical sky. "You know, I never trusted him for a minute. Truly I didn't." She slipped her arm around Winston's jerkin. "I realize now he was planning to somehow try and kill us both tonight. Thank heaven it's over. Why don't we just get out of here while we still can?" "Well, sir, it's a new day." Guy Bartholomew emerged out of the crowd, his smile illuminated by the glow of the blaze. "An' I've been talkin' with some of my lads. Why don't we just have done with these damn'd Frenchmen and claim this island?" He gleefully rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "No Englishman here's goin' to line the pockets of a Frenchman ever again, that I'll promise you." "You can try and make Tortuga English if you like, but you won't be sailing with me if you do." "What do you mean, sir?" Bartholomew stood puzzling. "This is our best chance ever to take hold and keep this place. An' there's precious few other islands where we can headquarter." "I know one that has a better harbor. And a better fortress guarding it" "Where might that be?" "Ever think of Jamaica?" "Jamaica, sir?" He glanced up confusedly. "But that belongs to the pox- eaten Spaniards." "Not after we take it away from them it won't. And when we do, any English privateer who wants can use the harbor there." "Now, sir." Bartholomew stopped. "Tryin' to seize Jamaica's another matter entirely. We thought you were the man to help us take charge of this little enterprise here of pillagin' the cursed Spaniards' shipping. You didn't say you're plannin' to try stealin' a whole island from the whoresons." "I'm not just planning, my friend." Winston moved on ahead, Atiba by his side. "God willing, I'm damned sure going to do it." "It's a bold notion, that I'll grant you." He examined Winston skeptically, then grinned as he followed after. "God's life, that'd be the biggest prize any Englishman in the Caribbean ever tried." "I think it can be done." "Well, I'll be plain with you, sir. I don't know how many men here'll be willing to risk their hide on such a venture. I hear the Spaniards've got a militia over there, maybe a thousand strong. 'Tis even said they've got some cavalry." "Then all you Englishmen here can stay on and sail for the next commandant Chevalier de Poncy finds to send down and take over. He'll hold La Tortue for France, don't you think otherwise. All those commissions didn't stay in Jacques's pocket, you can be sure. He's bound to have passed a share up to the Frenchmen on St. Christopher." "We'll not permit it, sir. We'll not let the Frenchmen have it back." "How do you figure on stopping them? This fortress'll take weeks to put into any kind of shape again, and de Poncy's sure to post a fleet down the minute he hears of this. I'd say this place'll have no choice but stay French." "Aye, I'm beginnin' to get the thrust of your thinkin'." He gazed ruefully back up at the burning fort. "If that should happen, and I grant you there's some likelihood it just might, then there's apt to be damned little future here for a God-fearin' Englishman. So either we keep on sailin' for some other French bastard or we find ourselves another harbor." "That's how I read the situation now." Winston continued on down the hill. "So why don't we hold a vote amongst the men and see, Master Bartholomew? Maybe a few of them are game to try making a whole new place." JAMAICA Chapter Twenty-two A cricket sang from somewhere within the dark crevices of the stone wall surrounding the two men, a sharp, shrill cadence in the night. To the older it was a welcome sign all was well; the younger gave it no heed, as again he bent over and hit his steel against the flint, sending sparks flying into the wind. Finally he cursed in Spanish and paused to pull his goatskin jerkin closer. Hipolito de Valera had not expected this roofless hilltop outpost would catch the full force of the breeze that rolled in off the bay. He paused for another gust to die away, then struck the flint once more. A shower of sparks scattered across the small pile of dry grass and twigs by the wall, and then slowly, tentatively the tinder began to glow. When at last it was blazing, he tossed on a large handful of twigs and leaned back to watch. In the uneven glow of the fire his face was soft, with an aquiline nose and dark Castilian eyes. He was from the sparsely settled north, where his father don Alfonso de Valera had planted forty-five acres of grape arbor in the mountains. Winemaking was forbidden in the Spanish Americas, but taxes on Spanish wines were high and Spain was far away. "_!Tenga cuidado!_ The flame must be kept low. It has to be heated slowly." Juan Jose Pereira was, as he had already observed several times previously this night, more knowing of the world. His lined cheeks were leather-dark from a lifetime of riding in the harsh Jamaican sun for the cattle-rancher who owned the largest _hato_ on the Liguanea Plain. Perhaps the youngest son of a vineyard owner might understand the best day to pick grapes for the claret, but such a raw youth would know nothing of the correct preparation of chocolate. Juan Jose monitored the blaze for a time, and then--his hands moving with the deft assurance of the ancient _conquistadores_--carefully retrieved a worn leather bag from his pocket and dropped a brown lump into the brass kettle now hanging above the fire. He next added two green tabasco peppers, followed by a portion of goat's milk from his canteen. Finally he stirred in a careful quantity of _muscavado_ sugar- -procured for him informally by his sister's son Carlos, who operated the boiling house of a sugar plantation in the Guanaboa Vale, one of only seven on the island with a horse-drawn mill for crushing the cane. As he watched the thick mixture begin to simmer, he motioned for the younger man to climb back up the stone stairway to the top of their outpost, the _vigia_ overlooking the harbor of Jamaica Bay. Dawn was four hours away, but their vigil for mast lights must be kept, even when there was nothing but the half moon to watch. In truth Juan Jose did not mind his occasional night of duty for the militia, especially here on the mountain. He liked the stars, the cool air so unlike his sweltering thatched hut on the plain, and the implicit confirmation his eyes were still as keen as they had been the morning he was baptized, over fifty years ago. The aroma of the chocolate swirled up into the watchtower above, and in the moonlight its dusky perfume sent Hipolito's thoughts soaring. Elvita. Wouldn't it be paradise if she were here tonight, instead of a crusty old _vaquero_ like Juan Jose? He thought again of her almond eyes, which he sometimes caught glancing at him during the Mass . . . though always averted with a pretense of modesty when his own look returned their desire. He sat musing over what his father would say when he informed him he was hopelessly in love with Elvita de Loaisa. Undoubtedly don Alfonso would immediately point out that her father Garcia de Loaisa had only twenty acres of lowland cotton in cultivation: what dowry would such a lazy family bring? What to do? Just to think about her, while the moon . . . "Your chocolate." Juan Jose was standing beside him holding out a pewter bowl, from which a tiny wisp of steam trailed upward to be captured in the breeze. The old man watched him take it, then, holding his own portion, settled back against the stone bench. "You were gazing at the moon, my son." He crossed himself, then began to sip noisily. "The spot to watch is over there, at the tip of the Cayo de Carena." Now he was pointing south. "Any _protestante_ fleet that would attack us must first sail around the Point." The old man consumed the rest of his chocolate quickly, then licked the rim of the bowl and laid it aside. Its spicy sweetness was good, true enough, one of the joys of the Spanish Americas, but now he wanted something stronger. Unobtrusively he rummaged through the pocket of his coat till he located his flask of pimento brandy. He extracted the cork with his teeth, then pensively drew twice on the bottle before rising to stare out over the stone balustrade. Below them on the right lay Jamaica Bay, placid and empty, with the sandy cay called Cayo de Carena defining its farthest perimeter. The cay, he had always thought, was where the Passage Fort really should be. But their governor, don Francisco de Castilla, claimed there was no money to build a second one. All the same, spreading below him was the finest harbor in the New World--when Jamaica had no more than three thousand souls, maybe four, on the whole island. Did not even the giant _galeones_, on their way north from Cartegena, find it easy to put in here to trade? Their arrival was, in fact, always the event of the year, the time when Jamaica's hides and pig lard were readied for Havana, in exchange for fresh supplies of wine, olive oil, wheat flour, even cloth from home. Don Fernando, owner of the _hato_, always made certain his hides were cured and bundled for the _galeones_ by late spring. But don Fernando's leather business was of scant concern to Juan Jose. What use had he for white lace from Seville? He pulled again at the flask, its brandy sharp and pungent, and let his eyes wander to the green plain on his left, now washed in moonlight. That was the Jamaica he cared about, where everything he required could be grown right in the earth. Cotton for the women to spin, beef and cassava to eat, wine and cacao and cane-brandy for drinking, tobacco to soothe his soul. . . . He suddenly remembered he had left his pipe in the leather knapsack, down below. But now he would wait a bit. Thinking of a pleasure made it even sweeter . . . Just as he knew young Hipolito was dreaming still of some country senorita. When a young man could not attend to what he was told for longer than a minute, it could only be first love. As he stood musing, his glance fell on Caguaya, the Passage Fort, half a mile to the left, along the Rio Cobre river that flowed down from Villa de la Vega. The fort boasted ten great guns, and it was manned by militia day and night. If any strange ship entered the bay, Caguaya would be signaled from here at the _vigia_, using two large bells donated by the Church, and the fort's cannon would be readied as a precaution. He studied it for a time, pleased it was there. Its guns would kill any heretic _luterano_ who came to steal. The pipe. He glanced over at Hipolito, now making a show of watching the Point at Cayo de Carena, and briefly entertained sending him down for it. Then he decided the climb would be good for his legs, would help him keep his breath--which he needed for his Saturday night trysts with Margarita, don Fernando's head cook. Though, Mother of God, she had lungs enough for them both. He chuckled to himself and took a last pull on the fiery brandy before collecting the pewter bowls to start down the stairs. "My _pipa_. Don't fall asleep gazing at the moon while I'm below." The young man blushed in the dark and busily studied the horizon. Juan Jose stood watching him for a moment, wondering if he had been that transparent thirty-some years past, then turned and began descending the steps, his boots ringing hard against the stone. The knapsack was at the side wall, near the door, and as he bent over to begin searching for the clay stem of his pipe he caught the movement of a shadow along the stone lintel. Suddenly it stopped. "_Que pasa?" _ He froze and waited for an answer. Silence. Now the shadow was motionless. His musket, and Hipolito's, were both leaning against the far wall, near the stairs. Then he remembered . . . Slowly, with infinite care, he slipped open the buckle on the knapsack and felt for his knife, the one with the long blade he used for skinning. His fingers closed about its bone handle, and he carefully drew it from its sheath. He raised up quietly and smoothly, as though stalking a skittish calf, and edged against the wall. The shadow moved again, tentatively, and then a massive black form was outlined against the doorway. _Un negro_! Whose could it be? There were no more than forty or fifty slaves on the whole of Jamaica, brought years ago to work on the plantations. But the cane fields were far away, west of Rio Minho and inland. The only _negro_ you ever saw this far east was an occasional domestic. Perhaps he was a runaway? There was a band of Maroons, free _negros_, now living in the mountains. But they kept to themselves. They did not come down onto the plain to steal. The black man stood staring at him. He did not move, merely watched as though completely unafraid. Then Juan Jose saw the glint of a wide blade, a cutlass, in the moonlight. This was no thief. Who was he? What could he want? "Senor, stop." He raised his knife. "You are not permitted . . ." The _negro_ moved through the doorway, as though not understanding. His blade was rising, slowly. Juan Jose took a deep breath and lunged. He was floating, enfolded in Margarita's soft bosom, while the world turned gradually sideways. Then he felt a pain in his knee as it struck against the stone--oddly, that was his first sensation, and he wondered fleetingly if it would still be stiff when he mounted his mare in the morning. Next he noticed a dull ache in the side of his neck, not sharp but warm from the blood. He felt the knife slip away, clattering onto the stone paving beyond his reach, and then he saw the moon, clear and crisp, suspended above him in the open sky. Next to it hovered Hipolito, his frightened eyes gazing down from the head of the stair. The eyes held dark brown for a second, then turned red, then black. "_Meu Deus_, you have killed him!" A woman's voice pierced the dark. She was speaking in Portuguese as she moved through the door behind the tall _negro_. Hipolito watched in terrified silence, too afraid even to breathe. Behind the _negro_ and the woman were four other men, whispering in Ingles, muskets poised. He realized both the guns were still down below, and besides, how could . . . "The whoreson tried to murder me with his damnable knife." The man drew up the cutlass and wiped its blood against the leather coat of Juan Jose, sprawled at his feet. "We were not to kill unless necessary. Those were your orders." The _negro_ motioned for quiet and casually stepped over the body, headed for the stairs. Mother of God, no! Hipolito drew back, wanting to cry out, to flee. But then he realized he was cornered, like an animal. Now the _negro_ was mounting the stairs, still holding the sword, the woman directly behind him. Why, he wondered, had a woman come with them. These could not be ordinary thieves; they must be _corsario luterano_, heretic Protestant _flibustero_ of the sea. Why hadn't he seen their ship? They must have put in at Esquebel, the little bay down the western shore, then come up by the trail. It was five miles, a quick climb if you knew the way. But how could they have known the road leading up to the _vigia_? And if these were here, how many more were now readying to attack the fort at Caguaya, just to the north? The bells . . .! He backed slowly toward the small tower and felt blindly for the rope. But now the huge figure blotted out the moon as it moved toward him. Fearfully he watched the shadow glide across the paving, inching nearer, a stone at a time. Then he noticed the wind blowing through his hair, tousling it across his face, and he would have pushed it back save he was unable to move. He could taste his own fear now, like a small copper tlaco in his mouth. The man was raising his sword. Where was the rope! Mother of God! "_Nao_." The woman had seized the _negro's_ arm, was pulling him back. Hipolito could almost decipher her Portuguese as she continued, "_Suficiente_. No more killing." Hipolito stepped away from the bell tower. "_Senor, por favor_ ..." The man had paused, trying to shake aside the woman. Then he said something, like a hard curse. Hipolito felt his knees turn to warm butter and he dropped forward, across the stones. He was crying now, his body shivering from the hard, cold paving against his face. "Just tie him." The woman's voice came again. "He is only a boy." The man's voice responded, in the strange language, and Hipolito thought he could feel the sword against his neck. He had always imagined he would someday die proudly, would honor Elvita by his courage, and now here he was, cringing on his belly. They would find him like this. The men in the vineyards would joke he had groveled before the Protestant _ladrones_ like a dog. "I will stay and watch him, and this place. Leave me two muskets." The woman spoke once more, then called out in Ingles. There were more footsteps on the stairs as the other men clambered up. "Why damn me, 'tis naught but a lad," a voice said in Ingles, "sent to do a man's work." "He's all they'd need to spy us, have no fear. I'll wager 'twould be no great matter to warn the fort. Which is what he'll be doin' if we . . . "Senor, how do you signal the fort?" The woman was speaking now, in Spanish, as she seized Hipolito's face and pulled him up. "Speak quickly, or I will let them kill you." Hipolito gestured vaguely toward the two bells hanging in the tower behind. "Take out the clappers, then tie him." The woman's voice came again, now in Ingles. "The rest of you ready the lanterns." The dugout canoes had already been launched, bobbing alongside the two frigates anchored on the sea side of the Cayo de Carena. Directly ahead of them lay the Point, overlooking the entry to Jamaica Bay. Katherine felt the gold inlay of the musket's barrel, cold and hard against her fingertips, and tried to still her pulse as she peered through the dim moonlight. Up the companionway, on the quarterdeck, Winston was deep in a final parlay with Guy Bartholomew of the _Swiftsure_. Like all the seamen, they kept casting anxious glances toward a spot on the shore across the bay, just below the _vigia_, where the advance party would signal the all-clear with lanterns. The last month had not been an easy time. After the death of Jacques le Basque, Tortuga was plunged into turmoil for a fortnight, with the English and French _boucaniers_ at Basse Terre quarreling violently over the island's future. There had nearly been war. Finally Bartholomew and almost a hundred and fifty seamen had elected to join Winston in his attempt to seize a new English privateering base at Jamaica. But they also demanded the right to hold Villa de la Vega for ransom, as Jackson had done so many years before. It was the dream of riches that appealed to them most, every man suddenly fancying himself a second Croesus. Finally Winston and Bartholomew had drawn up Articles specifying the division of spoils, in the tradition of the _boucaniers_. After that, two more weeks had passed in final preparations, as muskets and kegs of powder were stockpiled. To have sufficient landing craft they had bartered butts of kill-devil with the Cow-Killers on Hispaniola for ten wide dugout canoes--all over six feet across and able to transport fifteen to twenty men. With the dugouts aboard and lashed securely along the main deck of the two ships, the assault was ready. They set sail as a flurry of rumors from other islands began reaching the buccaneer stronghold. The most disquieting was that a French fleet of armed warships had already been dispatched south by the Chevalier de Poncy of St. Christopher, who intended to restore his dominion over Tortuga and appoint a new French _commandant de place_. Yet another story, spreading among the Spanish planters on Hispaniola, was that an English armada had tried to invade the city of Santo Domingo on the southern coast, but was repulsed ingloriously, with hundreds lost. The story of the French fleet further alarmed the English buccaneers, and almost two dozen more offered to join the Jamaica expedition. The Spanish tale of a failed assault on Santo Domingo was quickly dismissed. It was merely another in a long history of excuses put forward by the _audiencia_ of that city to explain its failure to attack Tortuga. There would never have been a better time to storm the island, but once again the cowardly Spaniards had managed to find a reason for allowing the boucaniers to go unmolested, claiming all their forces were needed to defend the capital. The morning of their departure arrived brisk and clear, and by mid- afternoon they had already made Cape Nicholao, at the northwest tip of Hispaniola. Since the Windward Passage lay just ahead, they shortened sail, holding their course west by southwest till dark, when they elected to heave-to and wait for morning, lest they overshoot. At dawn they were back underway, and just before nightfall, as planned, they had sighted Point Morant on the eastern tip of Jamaica. Winston ordered the first stage of the assault to commence. The frigates made way along the southern coast till they neared the Point of the Cayo de Carena, the wide cay at the entry to Jamaica Bay. Then, while the _Swiftsure_ kept station to watch for any turtling craft that might sound the alarm, Winston hoisted the _Defiance's_ new sails and headed on past the Point, directly along the coast. The attack plan called for an advance party to proceed overland from the rear and surprise the _vigia_ on the hill overlooking the bay, using a map prepared by their Spanish pilot, Armando Vargas. Winston appointed Atiba to lead the men; Serina went with them as translator. They had gone ashore two hours before midnight, giving them four hours to secure the _vigia_ before the attack was launched. A signal of three lanterns on the shore below the _vigia_ would signify all-clear. After they had disappeared up the trail and into the salt savannah, the _Defiance_ rejoined the _Swiftsure_, at which time Winston ordered the fo'c'sle unlocked and flintlocks distributed, together with bandoliers of powder and shot. While the men checked and primed their muskets, Winston ordered extra barrels of powder and shot loaded into the dugouts, along with pikes and half-pikes. Now the men stirred impatiently on the decks, new flintlocks glistening in the moonlight, anxious for their first feel of Spanish gold. . . . Katherine pushed through the crowd and headed up the companionway toward the quarterdeck. Winston had just dismissed Bartholomew, sending him back to the _Swiftsure_ to oversee final assignments of his own men and arms. The old boucanier was still chuckling over something Winston had said as she met him on the companionway. "See you take care with that musket now, m'lady." He doffed his dark hat with a wink as he stepped past. "She's apt to go off when you'd least expect." She smiled and nodded, then smoothly drew back the hammer on the breech with an ominous click as she looked up. "Then tell me, Guy, is this what makes it fire?" "God's blood, m'lady." Bartholomew scurried quickly past, then glanced uncertainly over his shoulder as he slid across the bannister and started down the swaying rope ladder, headed for the shallop moored below. "Hugh, how long do you expect before the signal?" "It'd best be soon. If not, we won't have time to cross the bay before daylight." He peered through the dark, toward the hill. "We've got to clear the harbor and reach the mouth of the Rio Cobre while it's still dark, or they'll see us from the Passage Fort." "How far up the river is the fort?" "Vargas claims it's only about a quarter mile." He glanced back toward the hill. "But once we make the river, their cannon won't be able to touch us. It's only when we're exposed crossing the bay that we need worry." "What about the militia there when we try to storm it?" "_Vargas_ claims that if they're not expecting trouble, it'll be lightly manned. After we take it, we'll have their cannon, together with the ordnance we've already got. There's nothing else on the island save a few matchlock muskets." "And their cavalry." "All they'll have is lances, or pikes." He slipped his arm around her waist. "No, Katy, after we seize Passage Fort, the Spaniards can never get us out of here, from land or sea. Jamaica will be ours, because this harbor will belong to us." "You make it sound too easy by half." She leaned against him, wishing she could fully share his confidence. "But if we do manage to take the fort, what about Villa de la Vega?" "The town'll have to surrender, sooner or later. They'll have no harbor. And this island can't survive without one." She sighed and glanced back toward the shore. In the moonlight the blue mountains of Jamaica towered silently above the bay. Would those mountains some day stand for freedom in the Caribbean, the way Tortuga once did . . .? She sensed Winston's body tense and glanced up. He was gazing across the bay toward the shore, where a dim light had suddenly appeared. Then another, and another. "Katy, I've waited a long, long time for this. Thinking about it, planning it. All along I always figured I'd be doing it alone. But your being here . . ." He seemed to lose the words as he held her against him. "Tonight we're about to do something, together, that'll change the Americas forever." The oars bit into the swell and the dark waters of the bay slapped against the bark-covered prow, an ancient cadence he remembered from that long voyage north, ten years past. Where had all the years gone? Behind him was a line of dugouts, a deadly procession of armed, grim- faced seamen. All men of Tortuga, not one among them still welcome in any English, French, or Dutch settlement. Was it possible to start over with men like these? A new nation? "_Mira_," Vargas whispered over the rhythm of the oars. His dark eyes were glistening as he pointed toward the entry to the harbor, a wide strait that lay between the Point of the Cayo de Carena and the mainland. Around them the light surf sparkled in the moonlight. "Is not this _puerto_ the finest in all the Caribbean?" He smiled back at Winston, showing a row of tobacco-stained teeth. "No storm reaches here. The smallest craft can anchor safely, even in a _huracan_. " "It's just like I figured. So the spot to situate our cannon really is right there on the Point. Do that and nobody could ever get into the bay." Vargas laughed. "Si, that is true. If they had guns here, we could never get past. But Jamaica is a poor island. The Passage Fort over on the river has always been able to slow an assault long enough for them to empty the town. Then their women and children are safe. What else do they have worth stealing?" "Hugh, is this the location you were talking to John about?" Katherine was studying the wide and sandy Point. "The very place. That's why I had him stay with the _Defiance_ and keep some of the lads." "I hope he can do it." "He'll wait till sun-up, till after we take the fort. But this cay is the place to be, mark it." "You are right, senor," Vargas continued as they steered on around the Point. "I have often wondered myself why there was no port city out here. Perhaps it is because this island has nothing but stupid _agricultores_. " Their tiny armada of dugouts glided quickly across the strait, then hugged the shore, headed toward the mouth of the Rio Cobre. Now they were directly under the _vigia_. As they rowed past, five figures suddenly emerged from the trees and began wading toward them. Winston immediately signaled the dugouts to put in. Atiba was grinning as he hoisted himself over the side. "It was simple." He settled among the seamen. "There were only two whoreson Spaniards." "Where's Serina?" Katherine scanned the empty shoreline. "Did anything happen?" "When a woman is allowed to sit in council with warriors, there are always damnable complications." Atiba reached and helped one of the English seamen in. "She would not have us act as men and kill the whoresons both. So she is still up there on the mountain, holding a musket." "You're not a better man if you murder their militia." Katherine scowled at him. "After you take a place, you only need hold it." "That is the weak way of a woman, senhora." He glanced toward the hill as again their oars flashed in the moonlight. "It is not the warrior way." Winston grimaced, but said nothing, knowing the killing could be far from over. In only minutes they had skirted the bay and were approaching the river mouth. As their dugouts veered into the Rio Cobre, the whitecaps gave way to placid ripples. The tide had just begun running out, and the surface of the water was flawless, reflecting back the half-moon. Now they were surrounded by palms, and beyond, dense forests. Since the rainy season was past, the river itself had grown shallow, with wide sand bars to navigate. But a quarter mile farther and they would be beneath the fort. "Jamaica, at last." Winston grinned and dipped a hand into the cool river. Katherine gazed up at the Passage Fort, now a sharp silhouette in the moonlight. It had turrets at each corner and a wide breastwork, from which a row of eighteen-pound culverin projected, hard fingers against the sky. "I just pray our welcome celebration isn't too well attended." As they rowed slowly up the river, the first traces of dawn were beginning to show in the east. She realized their attack would have to come quickly now. Even though the _vigia_ had been silenced, sentries would doubtless be posted around the fort. There still could be a bloody fight with small arms if they were spotted in time for the Spaniards to martial the militia inside. Let one sentry sound the alarm and all surprise would be lost. "I think we'd best beach somewhere along here." Bartholomew was sounding with an oar. The river was growing increasingly sandy and shallow. "She's down to no more'n half a fathom." "Besides that, it's starting to get light now." Winston nodded concurrence. "Much farther and they might spy us. Signal the lads behind to put in." "Aye." He turned and motioned with his oar. Quickly and silently the dugouts veered into the banks and the men began climbing over the sides. As they waded through the mud, each carrying a flintlock musket and a pike, they dragged the dugouts ashore and into the brush. "All right, masters." Winston walked down the line as they began to form ranks. "We want to try taking this place without alerting the whole island. If we can do that, then the Spaniards'll not have time to evacuate the town. Remember anything we take in either place will be divided according to the Articles drawn. Any man who doesn't share what he finds will be judged by the rest, and may God have mercy on him." He turned and gazed up the hill. There was a single trail leading through the forest. "So look lively, masters. Let's make quick work of this." As they headed up the incline, the men carefully holding their bandoliers to prevent rattling, they could clearly see the fort above the trees. Now lights began to flicker along the front of the breastwork, torches. Next, excited voices began to filter down, faint in the morning air. Armando Vargas had moved alongside Winston, his eyes narrow beneath his helmet and his weathered face grim. He listened a moment longer, then whispered, "I fear something may have gone wrong, senor." "What are they saying?" Winston was checking the prime on his pistols. "I think I hear orders to run out the cannon." He paused to listen. "Could they have spotted our masts over at the _cayo_? It is getting light now. Or perhaps an alert was sounded by the _vigia_ after all." He glared pointedly back toward Atiba. "Perhaps it was not so secure as we were told." Behind them the seamen had begun readying their flintlocks. Though they appeared disorganized, they handled their muskets with practiced ease. They were not raw recruits like Barbados' militia; these were fighting men with long experience. They continued quickly and silently up the path. Now the moon had begun to grow pale with the approach of day, and as they neared the rear of the fortress they could see the details of its stonework. The outside walls were only slightly higher than a man's head, easy enough to scale with grapples if need be. As they emerged at the edge of the clearing, Winston suddenly realized that the heavy wooden door at the rear of the fort was already ajar. Good Christ, we can just walk in. He turned and signaled for the men to group. "It's time, masters. Vargas thinks they may have spotted our masts, over at the Point, and started to ready the guns." His voice was just above a whisper. "In any case, we'll need to move fast. I'll lead, with my lads. After we're inside, the rest of you hit it with a second wave. We'll rush the sentries, then take any guards. After that we'll attend to the gunners, who like as not won't be armed." Suddenly more shouts from inside the fort drifted across the clearing. Vargas motioned for quiet, then glanced at Winston. "I hear one of them saying that they must send for the cavalry." "Why?" He paused. "I don't know what is happening, but they are very frightened in there, senor." "Good God, if they get word back to the town, it's the end of any booty." "Hugh, I don't like this." Katherine stared toward the fortress. There were no guards to be seen, no sentries. Everyone was inside, shouting. "Maybe it's some kind of ruse. Something has gone terribly wrong." "To tell the truth, I don't like it either." He cocked his pistol and motioned the men forward. "Let's take it, masters." Some fifty yards separated them from the open door as they began their dash forward across the clearing. Now they could hear the sound of cannon trucks rolling over paving stone as the guns were being set. Only a few more feet remained. Would the door stay open? Why had there been no musket fire? As Winston bounded up the stone steps leading to the door, hewn oak with iron brackets, still no alarm rose up, only shouts from the direction of the cannon at the front of the breastwork. He seized the handle and heaved it wide, then waved the others after him. Atiba was already at his side, cutlass drawn. Now they were racing down the dark stone corridor, a gothic arch above their heads, its racks of muskets untouched. My God, he thought, they're not even going to be armed. Only a few feet more . . . A deafening explosion sounded from the front, then a second and a third. Black smoke boiled up as a yell arose from the direction of the cannon. The guns of the fort had been fired. When they emerged at the end of the corridor and into the smoky yard, Spanish militiamen were already rolling back the ordnance to reload. The gunners froze and looked on dumbfounded. "!Ingles Demonio!" One of them suddenly found his voice and yelled out, then threw himself face down on the paving stones. One after another, all the others followed. In moments only one man remained standing, a tall officer in a silver helmet. Winston realized he must be the gunnery commander. He drew his sword, a long Toledo-steel blade, and stood defiantly facing Winston and the line of musketmen. "No." Winston waved his pistol. "It's no use." The commander paused, then stepped back and cursed his prostrate militiamen. Finally, with a look of infinite humiliation, he slowly slipped the sword back into its scabbard. A cheer went up from the seamen, and several turned to head for the inner chambers of the fortress, to start the search for booty. Now the second wave of the attack force was pouring through the corridor. "Katy, it's over." Winston beckoned her to him and and boxed ceremoniously. "Jamaica is . . ." The yard erupted as the copestone of the turret at the corner exploded, raining chips of hard limestone around them. "Great God, we're taking fire from down below." He stood a moment in disbelief. Around him startled seamen began to scurry for cover. Even as he spoke, another round of cannon shot slammed into the front of the breastwork, shaking the flagstone under their feet. "Who the hell's in charge down there? There were no orders to fire on the fort ..." Another round of cannon shot crashed into the stone facing above them. "Masters, take cover. There'll be hell to pay for this, I promise you." He suddenly recalled that Mewes had been left in command down below. "If John's ordered the ships into the bay and opened fire, I'll skin him alive." "Aye, and with this commotion, I'll wager their damned cavalry lancers will be on their way soon enough to give us a welcome." Bartholomew was standing alongside him. "I'd say we'd best secure that door back there and make ready to stand them off." "Order it done." Winston moved past the gunners and headed toward the front of the breastwork, Katherine at his side. As they approached the Spanish commander, he backed away, then bowed nervously and addressed them in broken English. "You may receive my sword, senor, in return for the lives of my men. I am Capitan Juan Vicente de Padilla, and I offer you unconditional surrender. Please run up your flag and signal your gunships." "We've got no flag." Winston stared at him. "Yet. But we will soon enough." "What do you mean, _mi capitan_? You are Ingles." His dark eyes acquired a puzzled expression. "Of course you have a flag. It is the one on your ships, down in the bay." "Hugh, what's he talking about? Has John run up English colors?" Katherine strode quickly past the smoking cannon to the edge of the breastwork and leaned over the side. Below, the bay was lightening in the early dawn. She stood a moment, then turned back and motioned Winston to join her. Her face was in shock. He shoved his pistol into his belt and walked to her side. Headed across the bay, guns run out, was a long line of warships. Nearest the shore, and already launching longboats of Roundhead infantry, were the _Rainbowe_ and the _Marsten Moor_--the red and white Cross of St. George fluttering from their mizzenmasts. Chapter Twenty-three "Heaven help us. To think the Lord Protector's proud Western Design has been reduced to assaulting this worthless backwater." Edmond Calvert's voice trailed off gloomily as he examined the blue-green mountains of Jamaica. Then he turned to face Colonel Richard Morris, standing beside him on the quarterdeck. "No silver mines, no plantations, doubtless nothing save wild hogs and crocodiles." "Well, sir, at least this time the navy has landed my men where we'd planned." Morris was studying the Passage Fort that loomed above them. Amidships, moored longboats were being loaded with helmeted infantry, muskets at the ready. "Their culverin seem to have quieted. If the town's no better defended, there should be scant difficulty making this place ours." "That, sir, was precisely what you were saying when we first sighted Santo Domingo, scarcely more than a fortnight past--before those craven stalwarts you'd call an army were chased back into the sea." Morris' eyes narrowed. "When the accounting for Hispaniola is finish'd, sir, that debacle will be credited to the incompetence of the English navy." "All the same, you'd best take your stouthearted band of cowards and see what you can manage here." Calvert dismissed the commander with a perfunctory salute. Rancor no longer served any end; what was lost was lost. What had been forfeited, he knew, was England's best chance ever to seize a portion of Spain's vast New World wealth. Oliver Cromwell's ambitious Western Design had foundered hopelessly on the sun-scorched shores of Hispaniola. He reflected again on the confident instructions in his secret commission, authorized by the Lord Protector himself and approved by his new Council of State only four months earlier. _"The Western Design of His Highness is intended to gain for England that part of the West Indies now in the possession of the Spaniard, for the effecting thereof we shall communicate to you what hath been under our Consideration. Your first objective is to seize certain of the Spaniards' Islands, and particularly Hispaniola. Said Island hath no considerable place in the South part thereof but the City of Santo Domingo, and that not being heavily fortified may doubtless be possest without much difficulty, which being done, that whole Island will be brought under Obedience. From thence, after your Landing there, send force for the taking of Havana, which lies in the Island of Cuba, which is the back door of the West Indies, and will obstruct the passing of the Spaniards' Plate Fleet into Europe. Having secured these Islands, proceed immediately to Cartegena, which we would make the Seat of the intended Design, and from which England will be Master of the Spaniards' Treasure which comes from Peru by the way of Panama in the South Seas to Porto Bello or Nombre de Dios in the North Sea . . ." _ How presumptuous it all seemed from this vantage. Worse still, the Council of State had not even bothered taking notice of Jamaica, an under-defended wilderness now their only chance to seize _anything_ held by the Spaniards. Most depressing of all, Cromwell would surely be loath to spend a shilling on the men and arms needed to hold such a dubious prize. Meaning the Spaniards would simply come and reclaim it the minute the fleet set sail. Surely, he told himself, Cromwell was aware they had shipped out without nearly enough trained men to attack Spanish holdings. Even his Council of State realized as much. But they had nourished the delusion that, once Barbados was bludgeoned back into the Commonwealth, its planters would dutifully offer up whatever first-rate men, arms, and cavalry were needed for the campaign. What the Council of State had not conceived was how indifferent those islanders would be to the territorial ambitions of Oliver Cromwell. Barbados' planters, it turned out, wanted nothing to do with a conquest of the Spanish Americas; to them, more English-held lands in the New World only meant the likelihood of more acres planted in sugar one day, to compete with the trade they hoped to monopolize. Consequently, Morris' Barbados recruits consisted almost wholly of runaway indentures eluding their owners and their creditors, a collection of profane, debauched rogues whose only boldness lay in doing mischief. Sugar and slaves. They might well have undermined Barbados' brief try for independence; but they also meant there would be no more English lands in the Americas. Calvert's heart grew heavy as he remembered how their careful strategy for taking Hispaniola had been wrecked. They had decided to avoid the uncharted harbor of Santo Domingo and land five miles down the coast. But by a mischance of wind on their stern, it was thirty. Then Morris had disembarked his troops with scarcely any water or victuals. All the first day, however, he had marched unopposed, his Puritan infantrymen even pausing to vandalize Papist churches along the way, using idols of the Virgin for musket practice. The Spaniards, however, had a plan of their own. They had been busy burning all the savannahs farther ahead to drive away the cattle, leaving a path of scorched ground. Soon Morris' supplies were exhausted and hunger began to set in; whereupon his infantry started stealing the horses of the cavalry, roasting and devouring them so ravenously the Spaniards reportedly thought horsemeat must be some kind of English delicacy. Then came another catastrophe. For sport, the army burned some thatched huts belonging to Hispaniola's notorious Cow-Killers. Soon a gang of vengeful hunters had massed in the woods along the army's path and begun sniping with their long-barrelled muskets. After that, whenever fireflies appeared in the evenings, the English sentries, never before having seen such creatures, mistook them for the burning matchcord of the Cow-Killers' muskets and began firing into the night, causing general panic and men trampled to death in flight. Also, the rattling claws of the night-foraging Caribbean land crabs would sound to the nervous English infantry like the clank of the Cow-Killers' bandoliers. An alarm would raise--"the Cow-Killers"--and soldiers would run blindly into the forests and deadly swamps trying to flee. When they finally reached Santo Domingo, Morris and his demoralized men gamely tried to rush and scale the walls, whereupon the Spaniards simply fired down with cannon and slew hundreds. Driven back, Morris claimed his retreat was merely "tactical." But when he tried again, the Spanish cavalry rode out and lanced countless more in a general rout, only turning back when they tired of killing. It was the most humiliating defeat any English army had ever received--suffered at the hands of the supposedly craven Spaniards, and the wandering Cow- Killers, of Hispaniola. Back at sea, they realized the foolhardiness of an attempt on Havana or Cartegena, so the choice they were confronted with was to return to England empty-handed and face Cromwell's outrage, or perhaps try some easier Spanish prize. That was when they hit on the idea of Jamaica-- admittedly a smaller island than Hispaniola and of scant consequence to Spain, but a place known for its slight defenses. They immediately weighed anchor and made sail for Jamaica Bay. . . . "Well, sir, I take it the shooting's over for now. Mayhaps this time your rabble army will see fit to stand and fight like Englishmen." Edging his way cautiously up the smoky companionway, in black hat and cotton doublet, was one of the few Barbados planters who had offered to join the expedition. He glanced at the sunlit fortress, then stared at the green hills beyond. "Though from the looks of the place, I'd judge it's scarcely worth the waste of a round of shot. 'Twould seem to be damn'd near as wild as Barbados the day I first set foot on her." "I think Colonel Morris knows his duty, sir." Calvert's tone grew official. "And I presume some of this land could readily be put into cultivation." Why, Calvert puzzled, had the planter come? He'd not offered to assist the infantry. No, most probably he volunteered in hopes of commandeering the choicest Spanish plantations on Hispaniola all for himself. Or perhaps he merely couldn't countenance the thought he'd been denied a seat on Barbados' new Council. Yes, that was more likely the case. Why else would a sugar grower as notoriously successful as Benjamin Briggs have decided to come with them? "Cultivation!" Briggs turned on him. "I see you know little enough about running a plantation, sir. Where's the labor you'd need?" "Perhaps some of these infantry will choose to stay and settle. With the Spaniards all about, this island's going to require . . ." "This set of layabouts? I doubt one in a hundred could tell a cassava root from a yam, assuming he had the industry to hoe one up." Briggs moved to the railing and surveyed the wide plain spreading up from the harbor. "This batch'd not be worth tuppence the dozen for clearing stumps and planting." . . . But, he found himself thinking, maybe things would be different if you went about it properly. And brought in some Africans. Enough strapping blacks and some of these savannahs might well be set to production. And if not along here, then maybe upland. The hills look as green as Barbados was thirty years ago. Could it be I was wise to come after all? Damn Hispaniola. This place could be the ideal spot to prove what I've always believed. Aye, he told himself. Barbados showed there's a fortune to be made with sugar. But what's really called for is land, lots of it; and half the good plots there're still held by damn'd ten-acre freeholders. The New World is the place where a man has to think in larger terms. So what if I sold off those Barbados acres, packed up the sugar mill and brought it here, cut a deal with the Dutchmen for a string of quality Nigers on long credit . . .? All we need do is send these few Spaniards packing, and this island could well be a gold mine. "If you'll pardon me, Mister Briggs, I'll have to be going ashore now." Calvert nodded, then turned for the companionway. "As you will, sir." Briggs glanced back at the island. "And if it's all the same, I think I'll be joining you. To take the measure of this fish we've snagged and see what we've got." "You might do better to wait, Mister Briggs, till we've gained a clear surrender from the Spaniards." "Well, sir, I don't see any Spaniards lurking about there on the plain." He headed down the companionway after Calvert. "I'm the civilian here, which means I've got responsibilities of my own." "Hugh, are we going to just stand here and let these bastards rob us?" Katherine was angrily gripping her musket. "We took this fort, not Morris and his Roundheads." Winston stood staring at the warships, his mind churning. Why the hell were they here? Cromwell had better things to do with his navy than harass a few Spanish planters. Whatever they want, he vowed to himself, they'll damn well have to fight for it. "'Tis the most cursed sight I e'er laid eyes on." Guy Bartholomew had moved beside them. "Mayhaps that rumor about some fleet trying Santo Domingo was all too true. An' when they fail'd at that, they decided to pillage Jamaica instead." Next to him was Timothy Farrell, spouting Irish oaths down on the ships. "Aye, by the Holy Virgin, but whatever happen'd, I'll wager you this--it's the last we're like to see of any ransom for the town." His eyes were desolate. "The damn'd English'll be havin' it all. They've never heard of dividing a thing fair and square, that I promise you." "Well, they can't squeeze a town that's empty." Winston turned to Bartholomew. "So why don't we start by giving this navy a little token of our thanks. Set these Spaniards free to go back and help clear out Villa de la Vega. By the time the damn'd Roundheads get there, there'll be nothing to find save empty huts." "Well, sir, it's a thought, I'll grant you. Else we could try and get over there first ourselves, to see if there's any gold left to be had. These Spaniards' Romanish churches are usually good for a few trinkets." The _boucanier_ looked down again. A line of longboats was now edging across the bay below, headed for the shore beneath the fort. He glanced back at his men. "What say you, lads?" "There's no point to it, Cap'n, as I'm a Christian." One of the grizzled _boucaniers_ behind him spoke up. "There're lads here aplenty who've sailed for the English navy in their time, an' I'm one of 'em. You can be sure we'd never get past those frigates with any Spanish gold. All we'd get is a rope if we tried riflin' the town now, or holdin' it for ransom. When an honest tar borrows a brass watch fob, he's hang'd for theft; when the generals steal a whole country, it's called the spoils of war. No sir, I've had all the acquaintance I expect to with so-called English law. I warrant the best thing we can do now is try getting out of here whilst we can, and let the whoresons have what they came to find. We took this place once, by God, and we can well do it again." There was a murmur of concurrence from the others. Some experienced seamen were already eyeing the stone corridor, reflecting on the English navy's frequent practice of impressing any able-bodied man within reach whenever it needed replacements. "Well, sir, there's some merit in what you say." Bartholomew nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe the wisest course right now is to try and get some canvas on our brigs before this navy starts to nose about our anchorage over at the other side of the _cayo_. "That's the best, make nae mistake." The Scotsman MacEwen interjected nervously. "An' if these Spaniards care to trouble keeping the damn'd Roundheads entertained whilst we're doin' it, then I'd gladly hand them back every gunner here, with a skein of matchcord in the trade. Whatever's in the town can be damn'd." "Then it's done." Winston motioned for the Spanish commander. Captain Juan Vicente de Padilla advanced hesitantly, renewed alarm in his dark eyes. "Do you wish to receive my sword now, capitan?" "No, you can keep it, and get the hell out of here. Go on back to Villa de la Vega and let your governor know the English navy's invaded." "Capitan, I do not understand your meaning." He stood puzzling. "Your speech is Ingles, but you are not part of those _galeones_ down below?" "We're not English. And I can promise you this island hasn't heard the last of us." Winston thumbed toward the corridor. "Now you'd best be out of here. I don't know how long those Roundheads expect to tarry." With a bow of supreme relief, Captain de Padilla turned and summoned his men. In moments the Spanish gunners were jostling toward the corridor, each wanting to be the first to evacuate his family and wealth from Villa de la Vega. "In God's name, Hugh, don't tell me you're thinking to just hand over this fort!" Katherine was still watching the shore below, where infantrymen were now forming ranks to begin marching up the slope. "I, for one, intend to stand and fight as long as there's powder and shot." "Don't worry, we've got the heavy guns. And their damned warships are under them." He signaled to Tom Canninge, master gunner of the _Defiance_. "Have the boys prime and run out these culverin. We need to be ready." "Good as done." Canninge shouted an order, and his men hurriedly began hauling the tackles left lying on the stone pavement by the Spanish gunners, rolling back the iron cannon to reload. By now the infantry had begun advancing up the hill. Winston watched them long enough through the sparse trees to recognize Richard Morris at their head. So we meet again, you Roundhead bastard. But this time _I_ start out holding the ordnance. "Masters, cover us with your muskets." He motioned for Katherine and together they started for the corridor. The hallway had grown lighter now, a pale gold in the early light of dawn. At the far end the heavy oak door had been left ajar by the departing Spanish gunners. As they stepped into the sunshine, Atiba suddenly appeared beside them, concern on his face. "Senhor, I think it is no longer safe at the damnable _vigia_ on the hill. I must go back up there now." "All right." Winston waved him on. "But see you're quick on it." "I am a man of the mountains. When I wish, I can travel faster than a Spaniard with a horse." He began to sprint across the clearing, headed for the trees. "Katy, hang on to this." Winston drew one of the pistols from his belt and handed it to her. "We'll talk first, but if we have to shoot, the main thing is to bring down Morris. That ought to scatter them." As they rounded the corner of the fort. Colonel Richard Morris emerged through the trees opposite, leading a column of infantry. The commander froze when he saw them. He was raising his musket, preparing to give order to fire, when his face softened into a disbelieving grin. "God's blood. Nobody told me you'd decided to join up with this assault." He examined them a moment longer, then glanced up at the breastwork, where a line of seamen had appeared, holding flintlocks. He stared a moment in confusion before looking back at Winston. "I suppose congratulations are in order. We had no idea 'twas you and your men who'd silenced their guns. You've doubtless saved us a hot ordnance battle. Bloody fine job, I must say." He lowered his musket and strode warily forward. "What have you done with all the Spaniards?" "They're gone now." Winston's hand was on the pistol in his belt. "Then the place is ours!" Morris turned and motioned the infantrymen forward. "Damned odd I didn't notice your . . . frigate in amongst our sail. We could've used you at Hispaniola." He tried to smile. "I'd say, sir, that an extra month's pay for you and your lads is in order, even though I take it you joined us late. I'll see to it myself." "You can save your eighteen shillings. Colonel. We plan to hold this fort, and maybe the island to go with it. But you're free to rifle the town if you think you can still find anything." "You plan to hold what, sir?" Morris took a cautious step backward. "Where you're standing. It's called Jamaica. We got here first and we intend to keep however much of it strikes our fancy." "Well, sir, that's most irregular. I see you've still got all the brass I recall." He gripped the barrel of his musket. "I've already offered you a bonus for exceptional valor. But if you're thinking now to try and rebel against my command here, what you're more likely to earn is a rope around your neck." Winston turned and yelled up to Canninge. "Tom, ready the guns and when I give the order, lay a few rounds across the quarterdeck of the _Rainbowe_ anchored down there. Maybe it'll encourage Colonel Morris to reexamine the situation." "Good God!" Morris paled. "Is this some kind of jest?" "You can take whatever you want from the Spaniards. But this harbor's mine. That is, if you'd prefer keeping Cromwell's flagship afloat." "This harbor?" "That's right. We're keeping the harbor. And this fortress, till such time as we come to an understanding." While Morris stared up again at the row of cannon, behind him the last contingent of infantry began to emerge through the trees. Leading it was Admiral Edmond Calvert, and beside him strode a heavyset man in a wide, dark hat. They moved through the row of silver-helmeted infantrymen, who parted deferentially for the admiral, headed toward Morris. They were halfway across the clearing before Benjamin Briggs noticed Katherine and Winston. "What in the name of hell!" He stopped abruptly. "Have the both of you come back to be hanged like you merit?" "I'd take care what you say, Master Briggs." Winston looked down the slope. "My lads up there might mistake your good humor." Briggs glanced up uncertainly at the breastwork, then back. "I'd like to know what lawless undertaking it is brings you two to this forsaken place?" "You might try answering the same question." "I'm here to look to English interests." "I assume that means your personal interests. So we're probably here for much the same reason." "I take it you two gentlemen are previously acquainted." Calvert moved cautiously forward. "Whatever your past cordiality, there'll be ample time to manage the disposition of this place after it's ours. We're dividing the skin before we've caught the fox. Besides, it's the Lord Protector who'll . . ." There was a shout from the breastwork above, and Calvert paused to look up. Tom Canninge was standing beside one of the grey iron culverin, waving down at Winston. "Cap'n, there's a mass of horsemen coming up the road from the town." "Are they looking to counterattack?" The gunner paused and studied the road. "From here I'd say not. They're travelin' slow, more just walkin' their mounts. An' there're a few blacks with them, who look to be carry in' some kind of hammock." Now Morris was gazing warily down the road toward Villa de la Vega. He consulted briefly with Calvert, then ordered his men to take cover in the scattering of trees across the clearing. Coming toward them was a row of Spanish horsemen, with long lances and silver-trimmed saddles, their mounts prancing deferentially behind a slow-moving cluster of men, all attired in the latest Seville finery. In the lead was an open litter, shaded from the sun by a velvet awning, with the poles at each of its four corners held shoulder high by an aged Negro wearing a blue silk loincloth. Katherine heard a rustle at her elbow and turned to see the admiral bowing. "Edmond Calvert, madam, your servant." He quickly glanced again at the Spanish before continuing. "Colonel Morris just advised me you are Dalby Bedford's daughter. Please allow me to offer my condolences." She nodded lightly and said nothing, merely tightening her grip on the pistol she held. Calvert examined her a moment, then addressed Winston. "And I'm told that you, sir, were gunnery commander for Barbados." Winston inspected him in silence. Calvert cleared his throat. "Well, sir, if that's indeed who you are, I most certainly have cause to know you for a first-rate seaman. I take it you somehow managed to outsail the Gloucester." He continued guardedly. "You were a wanted man then, but after what's happened today, I think allowances can be made. In truth, I'd like to offer you a commission here and now if you'd care to serve under me." "Accept my thanks, but I'm not looking for recruitment." Winston nodded, then turned back to study the approaching cavalry. "The 'commission' I plan to take is right here. And that's the two of us. Miss Bedford and I expect to make Jamaica home base." Calvert smiled as he continued. "Well, sir, if you're thinking now you want to stay, there'll surely be a place for you here. I'll take odds the Spaniards are not going to let us commandeer this island without soon posting a fleet to try and recover it. Which means we've got to look to some defenses right away, possibly move a few of the culverin from the _Rainbowe_ and _Marsten Moor_ up here to the breastwork. There's plenty to . . ." "What are you saying!" Katherine stared at him. "That you're going to try and hold Jamaica?" "For England." He sobered. "I agree with you it'll not be an easy task, madam, but we expect to do our best, I give you my solemn word. Yes, indeed. And if you and the men with you care to assist us, I will so recommend it to His Highness. I fear we'll be wanting experienced gunners here, and soon." While Katherine stood speechless, Benjamin Briggs edged next to them and whispered toward Calvert, "Admiral, you don't suppose we'd best look to our defenses, till we've found out what these damn'd Spaniards are about?" "This can only be one thing, Mister Briggs. Some kind of attempt to try and negotiate." Calvert examined the procession again as it neared the edge of the clearing. "Not even Spaniards attack from a palanquin." Now the approaching file was slowing to a halt. While the horsemen reined in to wait in the sunshine, one of the men who had been walking alongside the litter began to converse solemnly with a shadowed figure beneath its awning. Finally he reached in and received a long silk- wrapped bundle, then stepped around the bearers and headed toward them. He was wearing a velvet waistcoat and plumed hat, and as he approached the four figures standing by the breastwork, he appeared momentarily disoriented. His olive skin looked sallow in the early light and his heavy moustache drooped. Finally he stopped a few feet away and addressed them collectively. "I am Antonio de Medina, lieutenant-general to our governor, don Francisco de Castilla, who has come to meet you. He regrets that his indisposition does not permit him to tender you his sword from his own hand." He paused and glanced back at the litter. An arm emerged feebly and waved him on. "His Excellency has been fully advised of the situation, and he is here personally to enquire your business. If it is ransom you wish to claim, he would have me remind you we are but a poor people, possessing little wealth save our honesty and good name." "I am Admiral Edmond Calvert, and I receive his greeting in the name of England's Lord Protector." Calvert was studying the shrouded litter with puzzlement. "Furthermore, you may advise don Francisco de Castilla that we've not come for ransom. We're here to claim this island in the name of His Highness Oliver Cromwell. For England." "Senor, I do not understand." Medina's brow wrinkled. "Ingles _galeones_ such as yours have come in times past, and we have always raised the ransom they required, no matter how difficult for us. We will . . ." "This time, sir, it's going to be a different arrangement." Briggs stepped forward. "He's telling you we're here to stay. Pass that along to your governor." "But you cannot just claim this island, senor." Medina examined Briggs with disbelief. "It has belonged to Spain for a hundred and forty years." "Where's your bill of sale, by God? We say it belongs to whoever's got the brass to seize hold of it. Spaniards took half the Americas from the heathen; now it's England's turn." "But this island was granted to our king by His Holiness the Pope, in Rome." "Aye, your Pope's ever been free to dispense lands he never owned in the first place." Briggs smiled broadly. "I seem to recall back in King Harry's time he offered England to anybody who'd invade us, but none of your Papist kings troubled to take up his gift." He sobered. "This island's English, as of today, and damned to your Purple Whore of Rome." "Senor, protestante blasphemies will not . . ." "Take care, Master Briggs." Winston's voice cut between them. "Don't be so quick to assume England has it. At the moment it looks like this fortress belongs to me and my men." "Well, sir, if you're thinking to try and steal something from this place, which now belongs to England, I'd be pleased to hear how you expect to manage it." "I don't care to steal a thing. I've already got what I want. While we've been talking, my lads down on the _Defiance_ were off-loading culverin there at the Cayo de Carena. On the Point. As of now, any bottom that tries to enter, or leave, this harbor is going to have to sail under them. So the harbor's mine, including what's in it at the moment. Not to mention this fort as well." "Perhaps you'd best tell me what you have in mind, sir." Calvert glanced up at the breastwork, its iron cannon now all directed on the anchored ships below. "We might consider an arrangement." Winston paused, then looked down at the bay. "What do you mean?" "These men sailing with me are _boucaniers_, Cow-Killers to you, and we need this harbor. In future, we intend sailing from Jamaica, from right over there, at the Point. There'll be a freeport there, for anybody who wants to join with us." "Are you saying you mean to settle down there on the Point, with these buccaneers?" Calvert was trying to comprehend what he was hearing. Could it be that, along with Jamaica, Cromwell was going to get armed ships, manned by the only men in the Caribbean feared by the Spaniards, for nothing? Perhaps it might even mean Jamaica could be kept. The Western Design might end up with something after all . . . "Well, sir, in truth, this island's going to be needing all the fighting men it can muster if it's to defend itself from the Spaniards." Calvert turned to Briggs. "If these buccaneers of his want to headquarter here, it could well be a godsend." "You'd countenance turning over the safety of this place to a band of rogues?" Briggs' face began to grow dark with a realization. "Hold a minute, sir. Are you meanin' to suggest Cromwell won't trouble providing this island with naval protection?" "His Highness will doubtless act in what he considers to be England's best interest, Mister Briggs, but I fear he'll not be too anxious to expend revenues fortifying and patrolling an empty Spanish island. I wouldn't expect to see the English navy around here, if that's what you're thinking." "But this island's got to have defenses. It's not the same as Barbados. Over there we were hundreds of leagues to windward. And the Spaniards never cared about it in the first place. But Jamaica's different. It's right on the Windward Passage. You've got to keep an armed fleet and some fortifications here or the Spaniards'll just come and take the place back whenever they have a mind." "Then you'd best start thinking about how you'd plan to arrange for it." Calvert turned back to Medina. "Kindly advise His Excellency I wish to speak with him directly." The lieutenant-general bowed and nervously returned to the litter. After consulting inside for a moment, he ordered the bearers to move it forward. What they saw was a small, shriveled man, bald and all but consumed with venereal pox. He carefully shaded his yellow eyes from the morning sun as he peered out. "As I have said, Excellency, we are pleased to acknowledge your welcome," Calvert addressed him. "For the time we will abstain from sacking Villa de la Vega, in return for which courtesy you will immediately supply our fleet with three hundred head of fat cattle for feeding our men, together with cassava bread and other comestibles as we may require." After a quick exchange, Medina looked back, troubled. "His Excellency replies he has no choice but to comply." "Fine. But I'm not quite finished. Be it also known without any mistaking that we have hereby taken charge of the island of Jamaica. I expect to send you the terms to sign tomorrow morning, officially surrendering it to England." Winston stepped forward and faced Medina. "You can also advise His Excellency there'll be another item in the terms. Those slaves standing there, and all others on the island, are going to be made free men." "Senor, all the negros on this island have already been set free, by His Excellency's proclamation this very morning. To help us resist. Do you think we are fools? Our negros are _catolico_. They and our Maroons will stand with us if we have to drive you _protestante_ heretics from this island." "Maroons?" Calvert studied him. "Si. that is the name of the free negros who live here, in the mountains." He approached Calvert. "And know this, Ingles. They are no longer alone. The king of Spain will not let you steal this island, and we will not either. Even now, our people in Villa de la Vega have taken all their belongings and left for the mountains also. We will wage war on you from there forever if need be. You may try to steal this island, against the laws of God, but if you do, our people will empty their _hatos_ and drive their cattle into the hills. Your army will starve. This island will become your coffin, we promise you." "That remains to be seen, sir." Calvert inspected him coldly. "If you don't choose to honor our terms and provide meat for this army, then we'll just take what we please." "Then we bid you good day." Medina moved back to confer with the governor. After a moment, the bearers hoisted the litter, turned, and headed back down the road, trailed by the prancing horses of the cavalry. Calvert watched, unease in his eyes, as they moved out. "In truth, I'm beginning to fear this may turn out to be as bloody as Hispaniola. If these Spaniards scorn our terms of surrender and take to the hills, it could be years before Jamaica is safe for English settlement." Behind them the infantrymen had begun to emerge from the woods across the clearing, led by Morris. Next Guy Bartholomew appeared around the side of the fortress, his face strained and haggard in the morning light. He watched puzzling as the Spanish procession disappeared into the distance, then turned to Winston. "What's all the talk been about?" "There's going to be a war here, and soon. And we don't want any part of it. So right now we'd best head back over to the Point. That spot's going to be ours, or hell will hear the reason why. John's been off- loading my culverin and he should have the guns in place by now. We don't need these cannon any more. Get your lads and let's be gone." "I'd just as soon be out of here, I'll tell you that. I don't fancy the looks of this, sir, not one bit." With an exhale of relief, Bartholomew signaled up to the breastwork, then headed back. "God be praised." As Winston waved him on, he spotted Atiba approaching across the clearing, Serina at his side. The Yoruba still had his cutlass at his waist, and Serina, her white shift torn and stained from the underbrush, was now carrying a Spanish flintlock. When she saw Briggs, she hesitated a second, startled, then advanced on him. "My damnd Niger!" The planter abruptly recognized them and started to reach for his pistol. "The very one who tried to kill me, then made off with my _mulata_ . . ." Serina lifted her musket and cocked it, not missing a step. "Leave your gun where it is, Master Briggs, unless you want me to kill you. He is free now." "He's a damn'd runaway." Briggs halted. "And I take it you're in with him now. Well, I'll not be having the two of you loose on this island, that much I promise you." Serina strode directly to where he stood. "I am free now too." Her voice was unwavering. "You can never take me back, if that's what you have come here to do." "We'll damn'd well see about that. I laid out good money for the both . . ." "There are many free _preto_ on this island. To be black here does not mean I have to be slave. It is not like an Ingles settlement. I have learned that already. The Spaniard at the _vigia_ told me there is a free nation of my people here." Atiba had moved beside her, gripping the handle of his cutlass. "I do not know why you have come, whoreson _branco_, but there will be war against you, like there was on Barbados, if you ever try to enslave any of my peoples living in this place." "There'll be slaves here and plenty, sirrah. No runaway black is going to tell an Englishman how to manage his affairs. Aye, there'll be war, you may depend on it, till every runaway is hanged and quartered. And that includes you in particular . . ." He was suddenly interrupted by a barrage of firing from the woods behind them, and with a curse he whirled to stare. From out of the trees a line of Spanish militia was emerging, together with a column of blacks, all bearing muskets. They wore tall helmets and knelt in ranks as they methodically began firing on the English infantry. Briggs paused a second, then ducked and bolted. "Hugh, we've got to get out of here. Now." Katherine seized his arm and started to pull him into the shelter of the breastwork. Shouts rose up, while helmets and breastplates jangled across the clearing as the English infantrymen began to scatter. Morris immediately cocked his musket and returned fire, bringing down a Spanish musketman, then yelled for his men to find cover. In moments the morning air had grown opaque with dark smoke, as the infantry hurriedly retreated to the trees on the opposite side of the clearing and began piling up makeshift barricades of brush. "Senhor, I think the damnable war has already begun," Atiba yelled to Winston as he followed Serina around the corner of the breastwork. "That it has, and I for one don't want any part of it." He looked back. "Katy, what do you say we just take our people and get on down to the Point? Let Morris try and fight them over the rest." She laughed, coughing from the smoke. "They can all be damned. I'm not even sure whose side I want to be on anymore." While Briggs and Calvert huddled with Morris behind the barricade being set up by the English infantrymen, the four of them quickly made their way around the side of the fort, out of the shooting. Bartholomew was waiting by the oak door, the seamen crowded around. Now the fortress was smpty, while a musket battle between the Spanish and the English raged across the clearing on its opposite side. "I've told the lads," he shouted above the din. "They're iust as pleased to be out of here, that I'll warrant you, now that we've lost all chance to surprise the town. I'd say we're ready to get back over to the Point and see what it is we've managed to come up with." "Good." Winston motioned them forward. As he led them down the trail, Katherine at his side, he felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to see Atiba. "I think we will not be going with you, my friend." The Yoruba was grim. "Dara says if there is to be a war against the Ingles _branco_ here, then we must join it. This time I believe a woman's counsel is wise." "You'd get tangled up in this fray?" "It could be a damnable long war, I think. Perhaps much years. But I would meet these free people of my blood, these Maroons." "But we're going to take the harbor here. You could . . ." "I am not a man of the sea, my friend. My people are of the forest. That is what I know and where I want to be. And that is where I will fight the Ingles, as long as I have breath." "Well, see you take care. This may get very bad." Winston studied him. "We're headed down to the Point. You'll always be welcome." "Then I wish you fortune. Your path may not be easy either. These damnable Ingles may try to come and take it away from you." "If they do, then they don't know what a battle is. We're going to make a free place here yet. And mark it, there'll come a day when slaveholders like Briggs will be a blot on the name of England and the Americas. All anybody will want to remember from these times will be the buccaneers." "That is a fine ambition." He smiled, then glanced down at Serina. "I wonder what becomes of this island now, with all of us on it." "I will tell you." She shifted her musket. "We are going to bring these Ingles to their knees. Someday they will come to us begging." She reached up and kissed Katherine, then lightly touched Winston's hand. Finally she prodded Atiba forward, and in moments they were gone, through the trees. "Hugh, I'm not at all sure I like this." Katherine moved next to him as they continued on down the hill toward the dugouts. Bartholomew was ahead of them now, leading the _boucaniers_. "I thought we were going to capture an island. But all we've ended up with is just a piece of it, a harbor, and all these criminals." "Katy, what did you once say about thinking you could have it all?" "I said I'd learned better. That sometimes you've got to settle for what's possible." She looked up at him. "But you know I wasn't the only one who had a dream. Maybe you wanted a different kind of independence, but you had some pretty grand ideas all the same." "What I wanted was to take Jamaica and make it a free place, but after what's happened today nobody's going to get this island for a long, long time." She looked up to see the river coming into view through the trees, a glittering ribbon in the early sun. "Then why don't we just make something of what we have, down there on the Point? For ourselves." He slipped an arm around her and drew her against him. "Shall we give it a try?" * * * * * London Report of the Council of Foreign Plantations to the Lords of Trade of the Privy Council Board concerning the Condition of the Americas, with Recommendations for Furtherance of the Interests of our Merchants. . . . Having described Barbados, Virginia, Maryland, and New England, we will now address the Condition of Jamaica subsequent to the demise of the late (and unlamented) Oliver Cromwell and the Restoration of His Royal Majesty, Charles Stuart II, to the Throne of England. Unlike Barbados, which now has 28,515 Black slaves and whose lands command three times the price of the most Fertile acres in England, the Island of Jamaica has yet to enjoy prosperous Development for Sugar. Although its production may someday be expected to Surpass even that of Barbados (by virtue of its greater Size), it has ever been vexatious to Govern, and certain Recommendations intended to ammend this Condition are here set forth. It is well remembered that after Jamaica was seized from the Spaniards, the Admiral and Infantry Commander (who shall not be cruelly named here) were both imprisoned in the Tower by Oliver Cromwell as Reward for their malfeasance in the Western Design. Furthermore, the English infantry first garrisoned there soon proved themselves base, slothful Rogues, who would neither dig nor plant, and in short time many sought to defect to the Spaniards for want of rations. These same Spaniards thereafter barbarously scattered their cattle, reducing the English to eating dogs and snakes, whereupon over two-thirds eventually starved and died. The Spaniards did then repair to the mountains of that Island with their Negroes, where together they waged war for many years against all English forces sent against them, before at last retiring to live amongst their fellow Papists on Cuba. After that time, Oliver Cromwell made offer of Free acres, under the authority of his Great Seal, to any Protestant in England who would travel thither for purposes of settlement, but to scant effect. His appeal to New Englanders to come and plant was in like manner scorned. Thus for many years Jamaica has remained a great Thorn in the side of England. Even so, we believe that certain Possibilities of this Island may soon compensate the Expense of maintaining it until now. The Reason may be taken as follows. It has long been understood that the Aspect of our American settlements most profitable to England is the Trade they have engendered for our Merchants. Foremost among the Commodities required are Laborers for their Plantations, a Demand we are at last equippd to supply. The Royal African Company (in which His Majesty King Charles II and all the Court are fortunate Subscribers) has been formed and a string of English slaving Fortresses has now been established on the Guinea coast. The Company has thus far shipped 60,753 Africans to the Americas, of which a full 46,396 survived to be Marketed, and its most recent yearly dividend to English subscribers was near to 300%. A prized coin of pure West African gold, appropriately named the Guinea, has been authorized by His Majesty to commemorate our Success in this remunerative new Business. Now that the Assemblies of Virginia and Maryland happily have passed Acts encouraging the Usefulness of Negro slaves in North America, we may expect this Trade to thrive abundantly, in light of the Fact that Blacks on English plantations do commonly Perish more readily than they breed. Furthermore, the noblest Plantation in the New World could well one day be the Island of Jamaica, owing to its abundance of fertile acres, if two Conditions thwarting its full Development can be addressed. The first being a band of escaped Blacks and Mullatoes, known to the Spaniards as Maroons, who make bold to inhabit the mountains of said Island as a Godless, separate Nation. Having no moral sense, and not respecting the laws and customs of Civil nations, they daily grow more insolent and threatening to the Christian planters, brazenly exhorting their own Blacks to disobedience and revolt. By their Endeavors they have prevented many valuable tracts of land from being cultivated, to the great prejudice of His Majesty's revenue. All attempts to quell and reduce these Blacks (said to live as though still in Africa, with their own Practices of worship) have availed but little, by virtue of their unassailable redoubts, a Condition happily not possible on the small island of Barbados. Our records reveal that some 240,000 pounds Sterling have thus far been expended in fruitless efforts to bring them under submission. Yet they must be destroyed or brought in on some terms, else they will remain a great Discouragement to the settling of a people on the Island. It is now concluded that, since all English regiments sent against them have failed to subdue these Maroons (who fall upon and kill any who go near their mountain strongholds), efforts must be attempted in another Direction. Accordingly we would instruct the Governor of the Island, Sir Benjamin Briggs, to offer terms of Treaty to their leader, a heathenish Black reported to be called by the name Etiba, whereby each Nation may henceforth exist in Harmony. The other Condition subverting full English control of the island is the Town that thrives at the Entrance to Jamaica Bay, a place called Cayo de Carena by the Spaniards and now known, in honor of the Restoration of His Majesty, as Port Royal. Said Port scarcely upholds its name, being beholden to none save whom it will. It is home to those Rovers of the sea calling themselves Buccaneers, a willful breed of men formerly of Tortuga, who are without Religion or Loyalty. Travelling whither they choose, they daily wreak depredations upon the shipping of the Spaniard (taking pieces-of-eight in the tens of millions) and have made the Kingdom of the Sea their only allegiance. Unlike our own Failure to settle prosperous Plantations on Jamaica, this port has enjoyed great Success (of a certain Kind). No city founded in the New World has grown more quickly than this place, nor achieved a like degree of Wealth. It is now more populous than any English town in the Americas save Boston--and it has realized a position of Importance equalled only by its infamous Reputation. In chase of the stolen Spanish riches that daily pour in upon its streets, merchants will pay more for footage along its front than in the heart of London. Having scarce supply of water, its residents do drink mainly strong liquors, and our Census has shown there are not now resident in this Port ten men to every Tippling House, with the greatest number of licenses (we are advisd) having been issued to a certain lewd Woman once of Barbados, who has now repaired thither to the great advancement of her Bawdy Trade. Although this Port has tarnished the Name of England by its headquartering of these insolent Buccaneers, it is yet doubtful whether the Island would still be in His Majesty's possession were it not for the Fear they strike in the heart of the Spaniards, who would otherwise long since have Reclaimed it. The chiefest of these Rovers, an Englishman known to all, has wrought much ill upon the Spaniards (and on the Hollanders, during our recent war), for which Service to England (and Himself) he is now conceived by His Majesty as a Gentleman of considerable parts, though he has acted in diverse ways to obstruct our quelling of the island's meddlesome Maroons. Accordingly, His Majesty has made known to the Council his Desire that we strive to enlist this Buccaneer's good offices in persuading his Rovers (including a notorious Woman, equally well known, said to be his Wife, who doth also sail with these Marauders) to uphold English jurisdiction of the Island and its Port. Should this Design fall out as desir'd, His Majesty has hopes that (by setting, as he would have it privately, these Knights of the Blade in charge of his Purse) he can employ them to good effect. In furtherance of this end, it is His Majesty's pleasure that we, in this coming year, recall Sir Benjamin Briggs (whose honesty His Majesty has oft thought Problemmatical) and make effort to induce this Buccaneer to assume the post of Governor of Jamaica. * * * * * Afterword In the foregoing I have attempted to distill the wine of history into something more like a brandy, while still retaining as much authentic flavor as possible. Many of the episodes in the novel are fictionalized renderings of actual events, albeit condensed, and the majority of individuals depicted also were drawn from life. The action spans several years, from the first major slave auction on Barbados, thought to have occurred slightly before mid-century, to the English seizure of Jamaica in 1655. The structure of race and economics in England's Caribbean colonies changed dramatically in those short years, a social transformation on a scale quite unlike any other I can recall. The execution of King Charles and the Barbados war of independence also took place during that crucial time. All documents, letters, and broadsides cited here are essentially verbatim save the two directly involving Hugh Winston. Of the people, there naturally were many more involved than a single novel could encompass. Hugh Winston is a composite of various persons and viewpoints of that age (such as Thomas Tryon), ending of course with the famous buccaneer Sir Henry Morgan, later appointed Governor of Jamaica in recognition of his success pillaging Spanish treasure. Governor Dalby Bedford is a combination of Governor Philip Bell and his successor Francis, Lord Willoughby. (Neither was actually killed in the Barbados revolution. The revolt collapsed when, after defectors had welcomed Parliament's forces ashore, five days of rain immobilized the planters, whereupon a stray English cannon ball knocked down the door of a plantation house where the island's militia commanders were gathered and laid out one of the sentries, demoralizing them into surrender.) Katherine Bedford was inspired by Governor Bell's wife, "in whome by reason of her quick and industrious spirit lay a great stroak of the government." Benjamin Briggs is an embodiment of many early settlers; his installation of the first sugar mill on the island and his construction of a walled compound for protection recall James Drax and Drax Hall, and his later career is not unlike that of Thomas Modyford, a prosperous Barbados planter who later became governor of Jamaica. Anthony and Jeremy Walrond are vaguely reminiscent of the prominent royalists Humphrey and George Walrond. Edmond Calvert was drawn for some portions of the story from Sir George Ayscue and for others from Admiral William Penn. Richard Morris is a combination of Captain William Morris and General Robert Venables, and James Powlett recalls Vice Admiral Michael Pack. Most of the Council and Assembly members appearing here were actually in those bodies, and my Joan Fuller is homage to a celebrated Bridgetown brothel proprietor of the same name; of them all, I sincerely hope I have done most justice to her memory. Jacques le Basque was modeled on various early boucaniers--beginning with Pierre le Grand, the first to seize a Spanish ship (using dugouts), and ending with the much-hated French buccaneer-king Le Vasseur, who built Forte de la Roche and its "dovecote." Tibaut de Fontenay was the latter's nephew, who murdered him much as described over the matter of a shared mistress. Although Serina, as mulatto "bed-warmer" to Benjamin Briggs, had no specific prototype at that early time (a condition soon to change, much to the dismay of English wives at home), Atiba was inspired by a Gold Coast slave named Coffe who led an unsuccessful revolt on Barbados in the seventeenth century, intending to establish a black nation along African lines. As punishment he and several others were "burned alive, being chained at the stake." When advised of his sentence, he reportedly declared, "If you roast me today, you cannot roast me tomorrow." A contemporary broadside depicting the affair retailed briskly in London. Atiba's subsequent career, as a Maroon leader with whom the English eventually were forced to negotiate, also had various historical models, including the fearsome Cudjoe, head of a warlike nation of free Negroes still terrifying English planters on Jamaica almost eighty years after it was seized. Very few physical artifacts survive from those years. On Barbados one can see Drax Hall, on which Briggs Hall was closely modeled, and little else. On Tortuga, this writer chopped his way through the jungle and located the site of Le Vasseur's Forte de la Roche and "dovecote." A bit of digging uncovered some stonework of the fort's outer wall, but all that remained of the "dovecote" was a single plaster step, almost three and a half centuries old, once part of its lower staircase and now lodged in the gnarled root of a Banyan tree growing against the huge rock atop which it was built. On Jamaica there seems to be nothing left, save a few relics from the heyday of Port Royal. Only the people of those islands, children of a vast African diaspora, remain as living legacy of Europe's sweet tooth in the seventeenth century. The story here was pieced together from many original sources, for which thanks is due the superb Library and Rare Book Room of Columbia University, the Rare Book Room of the New York Public Library, the Archives of Barbados, and the Institute of Jamaica, Kingston. For information on Yoruba culture and practices, still very much alive in Brazil in parts of the Caribbean, I am grateful to Dr. John Mason of the Yoruba Theological Seminary, the Caribbean Cultural Center of New York, and friends in Haiti who have over the years exposed me to Haitian _vodun_. For information on Tortuga and the boucaniers, including some vital research on Forte de la Roche, I am indebted to the archeologist Daniel Koski-Karell; and for their hospitality to an enquiring novelist I thank Les Freres des Ecoles chretiennes, Christian Brothers missionaries on the Isle de la Tortue, Haiti. I am also grateful to Dr. Gary Puckrein, author of Little England, for his insights concerning the role slavery played in Barbados' ill-starred attempt at independence. Those friends who have endured all or portions of this manuscript, pen in hand, and provided valuable criticisms and suggestions include, in alphabetical order--Norman and Susan Fainstein, Joanna Field, Joyce Hawley, Julie Hoover, Ronald Miller, Ann Prideaux, Gary Prideaux, and Peter Radetsky. Without them this could never have been completed. I am also beholden to my agent, Virginia Barber, and to my editor, Anne Hukill Yeager, for their tireless encouragement and assistance. BOOKS BY THOMAS HOOVER Nonfiction Zen Culture The Zen Experience Fiction The Moghul Caribbee Wall Street Samurai (The Samurai Strategy) Project Daedalus Project Cyclops Life Blood Syndrome All free as e-books at www.thomashoover.info