The Butcher's Daughter, page 14
“Right you are, Lady Mary,” Atwood said. And then, with a touch of theater, he bowed to me most grandly. “And as you say, with good iron shot to work with our lads should be a bit more accurate than our foe, leastwise at long range.”
More rocks rained down all around us. One shot ricocheted off our hull. Another struck the forecastle and sent splinters flying through the air.
I placed my hands on my hips and cleared my head of any doubt. I had decided on a plan.
“You boys ready for a brawl?”
Gilley and Atwood exchanged glances, looked at me and grinned. After I told them my battle plan they both nodded their approval. And then I looked over at Ferguson, saw him standing at Godsend’s helm, and I shouted my plan across the waves to him. He acknowledged me with less enthusiasm than Gilley or Atwood. He offered me only a tentative nod and swallowed hard. But he was young. He quickly barked out orders to his crew and men scrambled up into the rigging.
I gave no rousing speech to my crew. My men knew the cut and thrust of battle, the bloody grind of war. Most had served by my side for years and needed no words of encouragement or prodding from me.
Another fifteen minutes passed before we made our move.
“About a thousand yards it is, Mary,” Gilley said casually as we stood together at the helm.
Atwood nodded and disappeared below to move the stern guns back to the main deck. He scrambled off to prepare his gunners for the turn.
More shots struck our ships. One near miss from a large projectile drenched me with a column of sticky seawater, soaked me through and through. Another shot struck the Godsend amidships and I heard a man cry out.
A young Italian named Caputo had Star’s tiller. Caputo was good but he wasn’t MacGyver, who had deserted me to sail with Hunter. Gilley had to tell the Italian to steer small. Larger ships like Star and Phantom use whipstaffs below deck to turn their rudders. But MacGyver, a clever fellow who liked to tinker, had replaced the clumsy whipstaff on both the Star and Phantom, my heaviest ships, with his own mechanical contraption. His special tiller, in the shape of a wheel, allowed the helmsman to steer the ship above deck so that he could see and feel where he was going. This wheel improved the ship’s handling. But MacGyver’s device also required a lighter touch.
“Stand ready, Master Caputo,” I said loudly. “Captain Gilley, right or left?”
“To port, Mary.”
“Master Atwood!” I shouted down to the main deck. “Prepare for a hard turn to port and then we shorten sail!”
“Aye, my lady!” Atwood replied excitedly.
“Master Ferguson!” I called out across the water. “Follow our lead, be ready to port your helm and shorten sail!”
“Aye, Mary! As you port your helm and shorten sail we shall do the same!”
Bare-chested, swarthy topmen spread out across the yardarms in their bare feet using the foot stirrups for balance and waited for the signal to haul our canvas in while my gunners stood anxiously by their guns with burning linstocks in hand. I bit my tongue. I held my breath and waited. My duel with Medusa when she had been Dowlin’s ship had been a simple, lopsided affair. I had beaten Dowlin with surprise and trickery. This was my first fight employing orthodox tactics. This was my first, true test at warfare on the water.
A shot crashed into our stern and I heard glass shatter. Another shot ripped a hole through the mizzen sail a few feet above my head.
“Now, Tom!” I commanded.
“Prepare to port your helm Caputo, let her ease into the turn before you ease-off on the tiller!” Gilley bellowed. Then he looked for Atwood down on the main deck. “Master Atwood, we shorten sail! Do it now! Caputo, bring her rudder around ninety degrees and hold her firm once we’re pointing due south.”
Atwood shouted his orders up to the topmen and then told his gunners to stand ready as Star heeled sharply over. Ferguson mimicked our actions and Godsend turned the corner with us in nearly flawless harmony. Topmen frantically pulled in canvas after the turn and both my ships glided to a stop. Now the enemy was perpendicular to us and charging into a wall of wood, into a wall bristling with batteries of heavy cannon.
“Master Atwood!” I cried out excitedly. “Fire as you please!”
With his hands locked behind his back, coolly strutting up and down the gun deck like some lord surveying his serfs, Atwood barked out fresh orders with a voice like rolling thunder. “Take aim! Target the lead ship. Wait for the swell. Wait for it. Ready. Steady. FIRE!”
BOOM! BA-BA-BA-BA-BOOOOOOOOOM!
Ferguson gave the same order on the Godsend.
The deck vibrated under my feet as Star’s guns recoiled. Clouds of smoke rose over the ship and filled my lungs with a pleasant whiff of gunpowder. A wave of elation washed over me, followed by a touch of guilt for having fun.
Plumes of water shot up all around our enemy. Each splash marked a miss. But I saw iron shot smack wood and rip through canvas too. Like a pack of hungry wolves the enemy ships ignored these barbs. They kept charging straight at us.
“Stop your vents, swab your barrels down!” Atwood bellowed with steely-eyed determination. “Move, move, move! Jump to it! Prime and load again. Take better aim, lads. Patience. Too many wide shots last volley. Those devils coming at us want to gut you - get mean, get angry, get ugly. Give those bastards a bellyful of pain before they do the same to you!”
Atwood’s gunners answered him with hoots and hollers. They answered him with renewed vigor and zeal. With steadfast discipline they hauled their bronze monsters in, swabbed the muzzles down to extinguish any burning residue and then reloaded with lightning speed. I watched the action swirling around me with satisfaction. I had a burning itch to join my men, to show off my own skills at gunnery, but I was the ship’s true commander and my place was at the helm.
“Mary,” Gilley called out, “those rascals continue sailing straight at us.”
“Let them,” I replied coolly, unafraid and then, feeling playful, I threw down a challenge. “Atwood! Your men are sluggish today! Have they no fight left in them? Slackers all! How embarrassing! These are not the men I trained with! Imposters, each and every one of them! Should we secure the guns and raise the white flag? Would your gunners rather I surrender this ship and be locked away in chains than fight?”
Standing in the midst of his gunners, the feisty Scotsman squared his shoulders back and doffed his hat towards me. He paused to give me a puzzled look as a bracing wind whipped through his wild, red mane.
Plainly full of himself, he offered me a defiant grin. “By your leave good lady, I’ll set matters right!” he thundered, taking the bait. “You’ll find no slackers, no dawdlers here today!” he said and then roughly grabbed a handspike from the nearest gunner and used the iron rod to ease a saker around until he found an enticing target. And once he knew his aim was true, he seized a burning linstock from the gun captain. “Let me show you how it’s done, lads!” he roared. Then he held his breath and fired.
BOOM!
Whether by luck or skill I know not, but Atwood’s shot smacked the bowsprit of the lead vessel dead-on! It was a brilliant shot! The ball cracked the spar in two. The ship’s jib sail went slack, floated above her port rail and started flapping in the wind like a bird with a broken wing. Men cheered.
“That’s the way it’s done!” Atwood boasted with adrenaline pumping hard. “No doubt every one of you can do me better! Now show me how good you are! Don’t be shy! Jump to it - fire away my brave lads! Impress our good Lady Mary with your gunnery skills!”
Gun captains answered Atwood with action. They leaned over their barrels, took careful aim, and when each man had found his target, he brushed his linstock against his gun’s touchhole. One by one the guns belched smoke and fire, hurtling iron and doom across the water.
BOOM-BA-BA-BA-BOOM!
Hunter’s endless hours of gunnery drills, those monotonous, exhausting exercises of his, were paying off. The enemy’s ships took a tremendous pounding. Still the enemy doggedly kept charging at our wooden wall. I won’t deny feeling some measure of anxiety as I watched them closing in on us.
Our foe did not lack courage - and he was not without a plan. At five hundred yards my opposite made his move. The lead ship, the lame ship in the center of the enemy formation with the broken bowsprit, continued sailing straight at us - somewhat clumsily now without her jib sail - while her two consorts peeled off. One went wide left and the other went wide right in an obvious attempt to sweep around our flanks and encircle us. The enemy commander’s counter-move would have been a good one had I intended to sit idly by and wait.
“Tom, Ben,” I shouted after the two enemy ships coming around our flanks were well into their turns. “Unfurl all sail, get us under way!”
Oblivious to any danger, topmen moved out smartly once again across the foot stirrups hooked beneath the yardarms. They hastily dropped and trimmed the sails, ignoring the rocks and iron balls zipping past them. The Star lurched forward slowly as her canvas caught the wind. The Godsend did the same.
“Port your helm hard over, Master Caputo!” I ordered once we had some speed. Ferguson gave the same command to his helmsman and both ships made a second sharp turn, this time to the east, straight at our foe. Now we had the advantage of better winds and friendlier currents. We had seized the weather-gauge for ourselves.
Atwood ordered his gunners to stuff the swivels with grapeshot and the heavy guns with chain. We pointed the noses of our ships at the lead enemy ship with a good, flowing breeze billowing out our sails. We quickly picked-up terrific, exhilarating speed.
“Mary,” Gilley called out after he finished issuing new orders to the petty officers of each division. “You have a gift!” he said with pride.
I felt a second wave of elation sweep over me and nodded my thanks to Gilley. Yes, I had a gift. We were going to sail by the lead enemy ship at close range and she would be wedged in-between us, Godsend on her starboard and Star on her port. We would pass her by with all of our guns blazing. When the two captains on the flanking vessels understood my plan - and their gross mistake in tactics - they struggled to swing their ships around to come to the rescue of their brothers. But they were too far off to catch us. My timing had been perfect.
At one hundred yards and closing fast I saw the brilliant white figurehead of a naked woman - or perhaps a goddess - mounted to the prow of the lead ship. I considered the splendid nude with admiration. The statue from head to toe was a lovely work of art.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BA-BA-BA-BA-BOOOOOOOOM!
We poured iron aplenty into the lead enemy vessel as we sailed by her at close range. My gunners pulverized the enemy’s hull. We fired off the swivels too and swept the enemy’s decks with grapeshot, inflicting horrific carnage. I saw men fall in bloody heaps of shredded flesh. I heard their high-pitched screams. I heard the sad groans of wounded and dying men. I heard their curses too; I heard sauve-qui-peut! Our enemy cursed in French.
And then I saw the ship’s captain standing at the helm out in the open, indifferent to any danger, brandishing a fancy cutlass, frantically directing his men in the midst of all the hot action. The man was young and handsome and I thought him very brave. When he saw me, he tipped his hat in my direction - a large, floppy thing adorned with a single, yellow plume - and bowed at the waist as our ships gracefully slipped by each other. I bit my tongue and nodded back, acknowledging my opponent’s chivalry.
The ships sailed on, the enemy to the west and my own ships to the east. We parted ways and the guns abruptly fell silent. The great battle was done.
My men cheered wildly as we watched our enemy sail off to lick his wounds. “Hoorah! Hoorah! Hoorah!” they shouted over and over again.
I climbed down to the main deck with a heart filled with joy to mingle with my crew. I shook hands, patted backs and even exchanged a hug here and there and a kiss or two. We did have casualties, mostly splinter wounds and lacerations. One of Godsend’s sailors suffered the worst of it when a rock bit off his foot. Poor soul. Some took note of my superficial wound across the cheek and I was embarrassed by the attention. The cut was nothing.
The god of war had been most kind to us that day.
I helped my men secure the guns and then had ale and spirits brought up on deck to let them celebrate. The three caravels were well over the horizon and no longer posed a threat. And when the sun settled on the waves, we turned our ships about and resumed our voyage west.
Gilley, Atwood and Ferguson joined me in my great cabin for supper. We ignored the broken glass all around us and ate a hearty meal.
“Why so glum, Tom?” I asked halfway through our supper. Gilley had been unusually quiet, even somber.
“Not glum, Mary,” he answered. “More pensive.”
“Pensive is it?” Atwood asked and chucked. “Don’t even know what the word means. Are you ill?”
“No, I’m not ill, Jacob. I’ve simply been reflecting on the day’s excitement. This is a happy day I suppose, except for Schmidt who lost a foot and for those poor, wretched souls we killed and maimed. War is never pretty.”
“We did not,” I said defensively, “ask for trouble. Trouble found us, Tom. Trouble was forced upon us and we fought back to defend ourselves. Tell me the wrong in that?”
“That is true, Mary, that is true. We didn’t ask for any trouble and those scoundrels got what they deserved most assuredly. But we haven’t been very good at being discreet so far since we reached the New World. Hunter was right, Jacob too. We’re the big dog it seems and the other dogs will always want to test us, to give us a good comeuppance if they can. I worry whether we can win every battle. I wonder what will happen when we lose? Ah, but bless me, today was a good day!”
I nodded in agreement. “I am mindful of these things, Tom. Perhaps we can’t win every battle. But neither can we live out our lives hiding away in some cave, cowering away in fear and scarcely living.”
“How true, Mary. I have no regrets.”
“I doubt those miserable fools who tested us today,” Ferguson interjected, “will want to test us again tomorrow or anytime soon. I’m grateful to you Mary for your keen sense of things, for your poise in battle. You displayed wonderful seamanship and bravery and kept your wits about you under fire. Your courage inspired us all. I will never understand how it is you know these things, these things that only men should know.”
“It is,” Atwood chimed in and bowed his head respectfully, “a distinct honor to sail with you, my lady. You must have a drop or two of Amazon warrior blood in you.”
I smiled sweetly at all three men. “You may now call me simply Mary, Jacob. You’ve earned the right. Aye, today was a good day. It is you three warriors though who showed great skill and courage and inspired me and I am grateful, even blessed. But we were lucky too. I know this. And no doubt there will be better and worse days ahead. I pray you will all feel as charitable towards me at the end of our cruise.”
The Province of Colón on the Isthmus of Panama was next on my list of places to see. Cortés had told us that Nombre de Diós, the Name of God, was one of the most important ports in the New World for this was where the fabled treasure fleet stopped to collect Spain’s riches once a year. Tons of gold and silver from New Spain, Columbia and Peru, Caribbean island pearls and Venezuelan gemstones by the crate, poured into the village overland by caravan. I had an itch to see the place though I knew the great treasure fleet would still be far away assembling in Seville.
The last leg of our voyage to Panama was mercifully uneventful. We sailed into Name of God’s nearly empty bay at dawn, went ashore and once again I was struck by the lack of any meaningful defenses, especially considering how much of Spain’s wealth passed through this very spot. A flimsy wooden stockade sitting atop a hill overlooking the bay was the harbor’s only protection. The paltry fort’s garrison could barely muster a company of men and had no cannons, not one.
As we toured the town we looked high and low for God or riches but found neither one. Instead oppressive humidity and heat, along with swarms of hungry bugs, found us. The Spanish had built their precious town next to a swamp with a most unhealthy climate, which seemed a curious thing to do. As we strolled casually down the village’s dirt roads we saw many straw and mud-brick huts. The only buildings of substance we passed was one Dominican monastery, one hospital, and over a dozen large warehouses used for the treasure fleet. Nombre de Diós was a sleepy, dirty, place. I found the village depressing.
We learned from the locals though that their quiet, little town was not always so. When the mule trains arrived once a year to rendezvous with the treasure fleet the town sprang to life. Thousands then flocked to the Name of God to ply their trades, to find work, or to revel in the great carnival, the Feast of the Golden Bull, where Spaniards celebrate the treasure fleet’s return and Spain’s preeminence among kingdoms in the world. And we heard the name of an English pirate named Captain Francis Drake. The Englishman had raided the settlement only months before, but had left empty-handed.
Finding no good reason to stay in Panama, we abruptly returned to our ships and headed out to sea for Veracruz, another favorite port of call for the treasure fleet. Fair skies and calm seas continued to bless our voyage as we sailed along a northerly course and then east and then west around the Yucatán. The closer we came to Veracruz the more tráfico we saw cruising across the sea lanes. But we stayed clear of any traffic; we steered well clear of any trouble.
After we rounded the Isla Pajaros, we headed towards the island of San Juan de Ulúa where the Casa de Contratación keeps a strong presence - in alliance with the Spanish army - and dropped anchor. The Spanish had built themselves a formidable fortress of thick stone walls and massive ramparts with imposing watchtowers protected by batteries of heavy cannon on the small island of San Juan de Ulúa. I took Gilley, Ferguson and Atwood with me and we rowed across the bay in the longboat over to the city.
