The Butcher's Daughter, page 31
Our voyage east across the ocean to the Old World had been fast and pleasant with fair weather as our loyal companion. In contrast we found London blanketed in fog and cold drizzle when we landed. The chill cut right through me and I could feel the sniffles coming on. I did not like the city. I did not like any city.
I walked through London’s dreary streets sneezing my poor head off with Hunter and Atwood at my side. Along the way we stopped at a tavern or two to quench our thirst and warm ourselves and to learn the whereabouts of the Admiralty’s offices. I needed to auction off my prizes and give the queen her rightful share. But I did not know what formalities were involved. We eventually learned that the Lieutenant of the Admiralty, the presiding officer of the Council of Marine, was the man to see. The Council had been King Henry VIII’s creation some years back to oversee his Navy Royal.
We did not meet with the Lieutenant of the Admiralty of course. We were lowly, Irish ruffians of no importance to anyone. We were rudely handed off to some minor clerk instead, to a baldheaded, disagreeable little runt of a fellow with badly stained teeth. I did not much care for him. But I bit my tongue, I suffered through his ornery disposition and lack of prudence all the while hoping to never have dealings with him again. He kept insisting, in the most tedious fashion, for proof of legal title for the ships I wanted to auction off, for ships that we had stolen! And he had no clue what to do with the bag of fine pearls I handed him.
I finally decided matters for the poor fellow. I left him with a one-third portion of the pearls to be delivered to her majesty and I was precisely clear with him, informing him that her majesty and I were well-acquainted and that he could lose his bald head if even one pearl went missing. The fool professed to understand. We came to the same arrangement with my three prizes. One third of the proceeds would go to the Crown, one third of the proceeds would go to our investors, which was me, and the rest would be paid to my men in shares according to each’s rank. I made no mention of the gold. That was ours by right, prior to any arrangement I had made with the queen.
We sailed away from dreary London two weeks later richer for our efforts. The galleon had sold for a small fortune, the Carib for a pretty penny, and the poor Abuelita, well, she brought in nothing more than the price of scrap, but I was glad to be rid of her just the same.
Now my fleet was down to a single ship and we were terribly over-crowed. I had to share my great cabin with all my officers, who slept on the hardwood deck wrapped inside their blankets. Worse, I was denied the pleasure of Hunter’s warm touch. Mercifully our cruise was short. We put in at Plymouth on the southern coast of England first where we had heard there were some very fine ships for purchase if you had the coin. We found two, both caravels of two hundred and fifty tons or better. One caravel was French-built from the shipyards at Boulogne and I was thrilled to get her because the shipwrights in Boulogne, as any savvy mariner knows, make the finest ships in the world. The other, a two-masted, gaff-rigged vessel with a sharp edged bow, had been built in Italy and she was a rare beauty. Neither vessel carried any cannon, but I knew where we could find some ordnance across the Irish Sea.
Once we reached Westport, I paid the men their shares and every man was thrilled. No one had expected the hefty amounts I handed out. And then I released the crew to their homes and families. I gave them thirty days, no more, to be back on board the ships if they wanted to sail with me again. The choice between the Old World and the New World was theirs to make, always. There would be no hard feelings either way I told them.
For the next thirty days I was miserable. The weather was cold, wet and depressing. I found myself longing for the warm breezes of the Caribbean and that surprised me. But worst of all I was alone. Hunter had abandoned me to visit an ailing sister in Dublin, his only living kin. Atwood, I learned to my surprise, had a wife and six children in Scotland and he took off for home. MacGyver had family in Waterford and Efendi, well, he simply vanished to God only knows where. That left me with my Caribs and Moors to keep me company and none of them could engage me in interesting conversation for very long or hold his liquor. So I spent my time inspecting and fixing little things on the ships - and I found my heavy guns. About the Twins on the east coast, there was precious little information.
Twenty chilly, lonely days passed before my men began to trickle in. At first only ten men or so appeared and then twenty returned and then thirty and so on. But by the thirtieth day we were still twenty-five men short and both Hunter and Atwood were among the missing. I delayed our voyage back to the New World for another five days. On the sixth day Atwood finally found his way back to me looking fit and jolly and then on the seventh Hunter magically appeared with most of the stragglers drifting in behind him.
“I’m a bit surprised,” Hunter told me later as we cuddled in my bed to celebrate our reunion, “that you didn’t sail without me.”
“I had a mind to,” I replied. But we both knew I was lying.
“My sister, her name was Anne, took a turn for the worst just before I was about to leave her. A few days later it was her time. I had to stay and bury her.”
I caressed his face and held him close. “Yes, I know. I received your letter. I’m so sorry, James.”
“No need for sorrow. Like Murphy, she was in great pain. I pray she is in a happier place. I’m grateful I was there to comfort her at the end. She had no one else.”
“I could never have sailed without you.”
“You are Mary, I say it simply, a joy to my heart. I love you with my whole being, with all I have to give.”
“And I love you, James Hunter, with all my heart.”
“I know. I know you do and I have some poor understanding of how difficult it is for you to love. I’m a very lucky man.”
I rolled over and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “It is easy with you,” I told him with an honest heart. We held each other tightly until we slipped quietly into a deep and blissful sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Rounding the dark, forbidding shores of Roonagh Point, we must have made a splendid sight to the hundreds of fishermen trolling the waters between Clare and Inisturk islands in their little herring busses, dragging their drift nets across the waves to snag themselves a living. We were three powerful battlecruisers sailing in formation, moving out swiftly, skimming across the waves under full sail with colorful pennants flying from every masthead and large flags of ridiculous proportions waving off the sheets and lines. One of the flags was my battle ensign of course, the red sea serpent poised to strike emblazoned on a field of yellow-gold - purchased by me in blood. The pageantry was grand. But the show was strictly for our own amusement. We’d haul down every pennant, haul down every gaudy flag and streamer too and stow them all away in the lockers before we ever flaunted them in the Caribbean again.
Our deception did not end there. Before departing Westport, we removed the figureheads from all three ships. We painted the hulls and superstructures black; we painted everything above the waterline tar black, including the masts and spars. We blotted out any colorful art work and obliterated every decorative carving. We removed anything that made our ships stand out. We craved anonymity and we practice stealth as we glided across the deep and boundless sea.
Sailors are a superstitious lot by nature. Bad luck it is to step aboard a vessel that has no name. So, before setting out, we christened our new ships and on this occasion I let my men choose whatever names they took a fancy to.
Hunter and I again had the Phantom, now a twenty-two gunner after I added four more great guns, and she was still the queen of ships. Command of the French-built caravel, now armed with eighteen heavy guns and thirty swivels, went to Atwood. His men christened her El Rojo Diablo because of her dark-grey sails with streaks of subtle crimson which, in a certain light, looked like burning charcoal. MacGyver took command of the sleek, two-masted, gaff-rigged Italian beauty, mounting sixteen heavy guns and twenty swivels. His crew named her, quite fittingly I thought, La Mia Bella Donna though we all simply called her Bella.
Yes, our squadron must have made a splendid sight as we left the Old World behind us. With a lively wind to speed us along the way, our three grand warships, cruising in a line with our high flying banners and sails billowing full, would have made any admiral in any navy proud.
Most of my veterans had reenlisted with me. But we had taken on new men too. We didn’t know the mettle of the new men and my veterans had grown soft. My captains would not let such men - not the raw recruits seeking high adventure or my hard-bitten veterans forged by rugged war - sit idly by as we lazily plied the blue waters of the Atlantic. Not when we were sailing into certain trouble. And so we resumed the grueling gunnery drills and combat training. We practiced for hours and days and weeks, relentlessly honing our skills with the great guns, sharpening our expertise at swordplay, with musketry and knives. We practiced until our limbs gave out. We practiced until our minds went numb. We practiced until our captains said enough, until they proclaimed us - one and all - ready.
As was our custom, we put in at Guadeloupe once we reached the warm waters of the green Caribbean. We found Chief Paka Wokili waiting on the beach to greet us with his royal entourage standing close by. He embraced me warmly after I jumped off the boat and stepped on shore. We distributed many presents to the chief and his people. A good number of our gifts were quite expensive too, unlike the cheap baubles we had seen others from Europa hand out. The Carib were delighted. And as was his custom, Chief Paka Wokili called for a great friendship feast of welcome to be held in our honor.
But after my Irishmen had had their fill of food and drink, we said our farewells and hurried back to our ships. We could no longer risk tarrying on Wokili’s lovely island for very long. We had enemies all around with no clue of where they might be.
We turned the capstans to raise the anchors. We dropped our canvas to catch the wind and eagerly sailed off. Not to sail to other islands to rest ourselves or to look for gold or treasure, no, not this voyage. It was if some wizard had cast a spell over me. A sudden desire for hot action filled my soul and spurred me on. I wanted to meet the Spanish out on the open water. I wanted to test ourselves; I wanted to test our mettle against them. I wanted to know if we were good enough to call ourselves privateers. I had the ships and I had the guns and men and I owed the Spanish a pain or two. But the masters of the New World were hardly slouches at cruel, hard combat and before I had always avoided engaging the Spanish head-on. I do not know what possessed me now, what madness drove me on to fight the Spanish toe-to-toe.
We knew the waters off Trinidad and the Port of Spain were often teaming with ships. This is where I decided to try our luck first. No one disagreed or had a better thought.
“Mary,” Hunter asked as we walked along the main deck together, inspecting the batteries of guns. “What has come over you of late? You are like a woman obsessed.”
“Am I?”
“Well…”
“Please, speak plainly.”
“Aye then, you are.”
“Does that trouble you?”
“No, Mary. We’ve crossed the vast stretches of a perilous ocean risking life and limb to fight and snag ourselves some prizes. All the men know the dangers and still they sail with you.”
“And?”
Hunter shook his head in frustration. He did not know what to say.
I squeezed his arm to reassure him. “Please, James, you need not worry yourself, not on my account. Women can be fickle. We don’t always understand ourselves.”
“I suppose this is true, Mary. But there is something else at work here. Of late you seem different, beyond what you have just described.”
“Ah, I see. Well then, there are I suppose two Marys. There is the Mary who loves her man more than her own life and then there is me again who can take a life, the Mary who cut off Dowlin’s head without hesitation, without regret or sorrow. And as we sail into the vast unknown, purposefully looking for trouble, I am Mary, Bloody Mary, who stands ready to sever heads. I am Mary who yearns to kill those who mean us harm, to kill those who double-crossed us. If that is obsession, so be it. Are you so different my brave and handsome prince?”
“No, I suppose not. We are alike in this. We share, I think, a quiet, measured ruthlessness.”
“I sometimes think we are more than just lovers, James. I often think we are kindred souls, you and me. Aye, a quiet, measured ruthlessness perhaps says it best.”
We passed many sails as we drew nearer to Trinidad. We saw many freighters from different countries. We saw Dutch, Italian, Swedish and French ships along with, no doubt, a number of smugglers mixed in. But I had no wish to harm former colleagues or to injure merchants struggling to turn an honest profit. We let them all pass by unmolested. And then twenty-five leagues or so off Trinidad, we sighted a lightly-armed Spanish nao cruising towards the Port of Spain and she was fair game.
Her master, no fool, became suspicious when he saw three ships bristling with heavy cannon bearing down on him. He had his men lay on more canvas and he did his best to scaddle into port. The nao was a clumsy brute though, built for hauling cargo, not speed, and we easily overtook her.
I gave young MacGyver first honors. Phantom and Diablo held back, standing watch, while MacGyver drove lovely Bella close-in. His men shortened sail, let Bella gracefully coast-up alongside the nao and then snagged her with a pair of sturdy two-flue irons to pull her in. I watched the fun from Phantom’s helm with Hunter at my side. We stood together underneath a canopy of red sailcloth draped over the aftercastle, fashioned by my men to protect my tender skin from burning.
MacGyver led a boarding party over the rails and disappeared into the bowels of the nao for an excruciating length of time. When he finally reappeared on deck again he waved at us, giving the signal that all was well. MacGyver then had his men lower away the nao’s small boat and rowed out to me.
“Mary,” MacGyver called up excitedly from the boat, all smiles. “She’s Spanish as we thought. She’s carrying livestock, pigs, chickens, even cattle, but not much else.”
Hunter burst out laughing.
“What amuses you, my good Captain?” I asked.
“We’ve sailed an awfully long way for a stinkin’ pig boat!”
“What’s her condition, Michael?” I asked, unfazed by Hunter’s contrarian mood.
“Wouldn’t waste any time on her, Mary. She’s old, she’s fat and slow.”
I turned to Hunter. “What say you, Captain James Hunter?”
“There’s no money in leaky, old boats or in pig shit. Same for chicken and cow shit too I’ll wager. I’d set her Diego crew adrift, beach the nao and let the animals go free. Then I’d torch the fuckin’ boat. Nothing here has value. Our good friend Martin ought to at least appreciate a good English bonfire using Spanish wood and canvas for fuel.”
“James Hunter, you are much too cross on such a glorious morning. Not every ship we plunder will be loaded down with Phillip’s treasure.”
Hunter rolled his eyes. “I am not cross my lady, nor do I yearn to take any treasure on this glorious morning as you call it. But neither do I fancy being one of Martin’s pawns and risking all of our lives for this.”
“No, you are right of course,” I said brightly, then turned and looked down at MacGyver. “Michael, what say you then?”
“I am of a like mind with James, set the crew adrift, run the ship aground and burn her.”
“So be it then. See to it, Michael. You are in command.”
After MacGyver and his men rowed back to the Spanish ship, after they hustled her crew of twenty into the nao’s small boat and pushed them off with only one set of oars, they beached old freighter on a quiet spot of shore nearby. Then they released the animals and torched the nao. Tendrils of thick, black smoke quickly wrapped themselves around the old freighter’s planks and timbers. At first the old wood only hissed and popped and crackled. Then a fireball exploded up through the main hatch. Flickers of bright orange and red crawled up the masts and rigging and within minutes the whole ship was awash in fire like dry kindling.
Not long after we had burned the Spanish nao to her keel, and not far off, we ran down an unlucky slaver from Africa. Well, unlucky depending on one’s view. I sent Hunter over next, hoping to improve his foul mood. He gave the slaver’s small crew the ship’s boat and set her Negro cargo free, over one hundred souls in all. We could not take them with us so Hunter gave the Africans muskets and a compass and told them to head due south for the Spanish Main where they could disappear into the jungle. I gave my own Moors the chance to join them if they wished to. But no man did. And that surprised me. My Moors were veteran sailors now and could have easily found their way back to Africa with the slaver. But no. Every man chose to stay and cast his lot with me, to tie his fate to mine.
We waved farewell to the New World’s new free and brought our own ships around. I decided to take Phantom into the Port of Spain to see what we might learn.
We dropped anchor in the harbor, as the docks were overcrowded with ships and boats of every kind, and rowed ourselves ashore. I took Hunter, Efendi, Henry and Kinkae with me. Or rather they took me with them. I was still just a ship’s boy, a lowly cook’s apprentice now. I wore men’s clothes, nothing new for me, and Hunter smeared soot across my face and cut my hair. We paid the harbor master his due for the privilege of parking our vessel in his harbor and then Hunter and I walked to our favorite tavern on the square. The others went about the town to watch and listen. We were on reconnaissance.
After several rounds of drinks, Efendi, Henry and Kinkae walked through the tavern door and plopped themselves down next to Hunter and me. Except for turning tipsy on good German wine, Hunter and I had accomplished very little. The tavern was quiet and slow. Even the tavern’s stable of comely strumpets, with their brightly painted faces and flaunting seductive apparel that left little to the imagination, weren’t winning over much action.
