The Butcher's Daughter, page 32
“How goes it lad’s?” I asked.
Mustafa shook his head and helped himself to my wine. A devout Muslim, intolerant to the ways of others, even they were heathens, he was not. He drained the cup in one gulp. “I heard no talk of any interest, Mary. What about you and James?”
Hunter grunted. “We’ve had no luck either. Not much happening at this fine establishment, though I find myself a poorer man than when I first arrived this mornin’. I’m indebted to our cook’s good apprentice here for ten pieces of eight if you can imagine such a thing!”
Efendi grinned. “You are the sorriest gambler of any of us, James. What wager did you lose this time?”
“The score is two to four in my favor,” I said, correcting Hunter before he could say another word. “And so you owe me twenty, not ten pieces of eight you scoundrel. Hunter bet the tavern’s fine ladies would flock to him, offer him their soft caresses, their tender affections, over me, over just a stupid ship’s boy.”
Efendi howled with laughter. He laughed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks. Henry and Kinkae smiled, amused by Efendi’s reaction though I am not certain either man truly understood our humor.
“Henry, Kinkae,” I said after Efendi had regained his composure. “All is well?” Both men nodded and winked at me when Hunter and Efendi weren’t looking.
With nothing to show for our efforts, I took my ships and we headed west for no good earthly reason. Sailing around Trinidad in tedious circles had sapped me of my patience. My restless soul yearned for hotter action. Neither the pig boat nor the slaver had satisfied my appetite for more.
We decided to try our luck with a visit to the Spanish Main. I chose Cartagena as our next target. Blustery winds filled our sails as we eased our ships out into deeper water. The strong gusts propelled us over rolling whitecaps at a tremendous rate of speed. Puffy, white clouds in countless numbers raced across the sky ahead of us. The air was crisp and clean and spirits soared.
Halfway to Cartagena we sighted four armed merchantmen and one four-masted galleon, a magnificent vessel, all heading south in a cluster. This was the fight I had been itching for.
Atwood brought Diablo in close to Phantom’s starboard while MacGyver steered Bella up alongside our port. All three crews moved out smartly to ready the ships for action. The air turned thick with excitement.
“A glorious day to be out on the water, lads!” I cried out to my three captains. “The way I see things the wind favors us if we go at them south by south-west at an angle and get ahead of them. I’d rather go after the mother hen first in the rear of the convoy, chase her off or disable her, and then devour her little chicks in turn. But we lose speed and time if we try to come in behind the convoy. And then it’s a race to the nearest port. What say you, my good captains?”
“If,” Atwood replied, “we try cutting them off to the south they’ll turn west I suspect, attempt to flee that way. That should suit our purposes just fine I think.”
Hunter, having just finished inspecting the guns on the main deck, hurried back to the helm to stand by my side. “I like the odds, Mary, and the plan.”
I turned to MacGyver. “Michael?”
“Woo-who! Let’s get crackin’!”
I laughed. “That’s the spirit boys! Jacob, Michael, if that galleon gives us any trouble, James and I will give her a taste of iron and hold her off whilst you two go after the freighters.”
Hunter arched an eyebrow and smiled at me. “That galleon just might prove to be a challenge, my lady.”
I had a sudden urge to kiss my man but settled instead on returning his smile with one of my own. “What’s this now? The great Captain Hunter, having doubts on the eve of battle? Nonsense! I have the utmost confidence in you and in your men. Those cocky Spaniards will soil their trousers once they see you coming.”
Hunter put his hands on his hips and laughed. “About the Spaniards shitting and pissing their britches, I have no doubt. But not because of me, oh no, no, no. It is when they see you at the helm my Amazon Queen, that is when they’ll try to cut and run! I pray though we’re all smiling at day’s end. The odds may favor us, but war is a dicey business, Mary.”
“So you and Jacob keep reminding me. Your wise counsel is always most welcome, sir - let us get to it then. We all know the drill. We all know what must be done!”
And off we went like dogs on a foxhunt. Three ships, three sleek hunters sailing abreast began chasing after five quarry sailing in a row. We set our course south by south-west and charged at the Spanish with all the sail the spars and masts could carry. Our ships had never sliced through the water faster. Both wind and current favored us.
I went to the bow to get a better view. I could feel my body soaking in the energy from the sun’s warm rays and from the cool sea spray splashing on my face. I relished the sensation of warm and cold as we closed the distance with our foe. When I spun around to take in my crew, I saw men bustling. Half-naked topmen, their lean bodies bronzed by the Caribbean sun, were aloft trimming sails to coax all the speed there was to coax out of Phantom while gunners went racing about the deck, readying their long-barreled falconets and sakers for action. Dozens of others scurried between decks bringing up ammunition and powder from the ship’s magazine along with muskets, swords and the swivels from the ship’s armory. The crews on Bella and Diablo were busy doing the same.
The action swirling around the ships filled me with exhilaration. I was, God help me, born and bred for war.
Once we were within two thousand yards or so of the nearest vessel, the Spanish commander realized outrunning us to the south was hopeless. Just as Atwood had predicted, he turned his fleet ninety degrees to starboard and headed due west. The move bought the Spanish a little time, no more. We adjusted our course too and before long, with our faster ships and better crews, we were sailing in the wake of the Spanish squadron. With each grain of sand slipping through the hourglass, we closed the distance with our reluctant prey.
At one thousand yards we opened fire with our bow chasers mounted on the forecastles. We started lobbing iron at the nearest ship, a two-masted merchantman. She was plump and slow, the slowest vessel in the Spanish squadron, and she had been falling farther and farther behind.
At one thousand yards we couldn’t hit her. At eight hundred yards we couldn’t hit her. At six hundred yards we punched a hole or two in her sails. But at five hundred yards - my gunners started smacking wood. The freighter had eight guns of modest size sitting idle on her main deck, but her crew couldn’t bring their guns to bear without turning their ship around to face us. The freighter had no chasers. Her gunners had no answer for our salvos. At two hundred yards my gunners couldn’t miss and the merchantman promptly struck her colors. My men - all three crews at once - raised a tremendous victory cheer.
I signaled Atwood to follow me and ordered MacGyver to shorten sail and snag the freighter. I wanted MacGyver to put a prize crew aboard the merchantman and then follow us as best he could to help us run down more victims. But how quickly fortunes can shift and change.
In the blink of an eye the western horizon turned dark and then turned very dark and menacing. Within minutes the sky went black all around us, as black as night, and the winds began to howl. Sheets of stinging rain pelted us on all sides. The sea churned with frightening anger. With little forewarning, a freakish storm of intense power swooped down upon us, unleashing an unholy vengeance on our heads. In the distance we saw four twisting funnel clouds touch water, water ternados. We watched in awe as they moved towards us. Even the bravest among my crew felt a little fear. None of us had ever witnessed such a thing before, or such a precipitous shift in the weather.
Hunter rushed about the ship like a madman, helping men tie things down, securing whatever they could. They double-lashed the guns and went aloft in the ferocious winds to take in all our sail, saving all but one. The winds shredded the main topgallant to tatters before my men could reach it.
We had to let the Spanish merchantman go. The heavy seas made it impossible to board her. I could see the Spanish fleet turning, resuming their former course to the south and my merchantman, my prize, scurried after her sisters. The Spanish had chosen to make a desperate dash for the nearest land. The Fates had robbed me.
I stood at the fore rail and I caught Hunter’s attention as he rushed around the main deck barking out orders. I made a circle in the air with my arm and he understood my meaning. He pointed south, the direction the Spanish were taking, and vigorously shook his head no. He pointed north and shook his head no again and did the same when he pointed to the east. Finally he pointed at the bow. Three times he pointed to the west, nodding yes each time. I understood his meaning and grimly nodded in return. Our only chance to save ourselves was to rush headfirst into the jaws of the vicious maelstrom, no matter how grave things looked.
Our good ship Phantom was knocked violently to and fro for hours. We nearly capsized twice. We lost sight of Diablo and Bella in the dark. Not even when blood curdling shards of light split the sky open could we see our friends and brothers across the water, not even a glimpse. I feared the worst.
The storm battered us roughly about from dusk to dawn. Teams of men took turns at the chain pumps, emptying out streams of bilge water. How none of our guns broke free from their lashings, with tons of seawater cascading over our rails, I know not. Gilley had always said Hunter was one of the finest mariners he had ever known. It was Hunter’s keen skill and courage, his unflappable poise in the face of doom that night that saved us all. Of this I have no doubt.
By early morning the sea and sky, both grey and still unfriendly, had quieted. My heart rejoiced when I saw the Diablo a league or two off our starboard bow limping towards us. Her rigging was a mess. But we saw no sign of Bella and my stomach started churning. Hot tea was my only breakfast. The crews worked feverishly repairing only what was absolutely needed and then we brought our ships around to scour the ocean to the east, to look for MacGyver and his men - or to recover whatever flotsam or bodies we could find.
But a good and gracious God favored us that day. We found the lovely Bella an hour later, intact, bobbing up and down on lazy swells with all her sails furled. Even from a distance it was easy to spot the problem. Bella’s mizzen mast had snapped in two. The great stick’s top mast was floating in the water alongside Bella, entangled in its own rigging. Amidships we saw a gaping hole in her side where two guns had broken free and smashed through the bulwarks. Some of Bella’s men were working in-between piles of debris and stacks of spare lumber patching the hole while others were busy trying to improvise a makeshift top mast as best they could.
“Glad tidings, Michael,” I shouted across the water as Phantom and Bella drifted past each other. “It warms my heart to see you alive and well, Michael.”
“Let me tell you, Mary, I thought for certain we’d all perish. What a short-lived but mean-spirited gale she was!”
“Can you manage until we find you a proper mast?”
“Aye, I think so. We’ll know soon enough. We lost two men, swept overboard with the guns during the night.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear of it. Who?”
“Thompson and Sweeney. Good men.”
Even from afar I could see the guilt in MacGyver’s eyes. “Thompson and Sweeney. Pity. We shall honor the memory of both men in the evening after supper, give them the proper burial rites. We had better luck on Phantom and Atwood lost no souls. You have the smallest ship. You have by far the trickiest challenge in heavy seas. You saved your ship and crew with brains and daring. Fine, fine sailing by any measure, Michael. Hold your head high my good Captain.”
“Thank you kindly, Mary. Any sign of the Spanish?”
“No. Not a hint. But I can’t imagine surviving those monstrous rollers coming at me dead amidships and heavy in the water with cargo.”
“No, nor can I. Poor devils. ‘Til supper then.”
After we offered up our prayers owed the dead, we put our ships back into fighting trim and set out to the west again mid-morning on the following day. We did not need to sail far. We spotted a single ship just before sundown and hurried towards her while we still had the light. She was a heavily armed caravel of good size but, like Bella, she had been dismasted by the storm. Strangely, her crew seemed in no great hurry to fix things.
When we pulled up alongside the crippled ship, I grinned from ear-to-ear. I could hardly believe my good luck.
“Why that’s the son-of-a-bitch!” I blurted out and pointed.
“What?” Hunter asked and dropped a length of rope he had been coiling around his shoulder to come stand by my side.
“That smug fellow sitting against the stern, the one with the large, floppy hat decorated with a single, yellow plume resting in his lap and drinking a bottle of wine, that’s the vermin who attacked us off Nombre de Dios. That’s the pirate captain I pointed out to you when we were in the Port of Spain at the tavern on the square.”
Hunter pushed his hat back off his forehead to have a better look and whistled. “Why so it is, Mary. I remember now. He’s the dapper Frenchman who likes wearing outlandish hats with yellow feathers. Well, well, well now - this reunion between the two of you should be most entertaining!”
The man with the gaudy hat glanced up at me as my men tied our two ships off at the stern. I could see in his eyes that he recognized me. The imbecile looked at me and smiled! I could hardly believe the bastard’s gall. He didn’t seem at all distressed to see me. Then he turned his attention back to his wine as if he hadn’t a care in the world and ignored me.
With their ship dead in the water, surrounded by three battlecruisers, his men made no hostile move, made no attempt to ready their heavy guns for action. My lads slid two planks over the bulwarks to make a narrow passageway.
“English?” The Frenchman asked nonchalantly as I stepped aboard his ship.
“Irish,” I replied coldly.
I could feel the Frenchman’s eyes on me as I took in the condition of his ship. I’m sure I must have blushed. The Frenchman was as handsome as Hunter, or nearly so.
“Oh dear, this is most embarrassing, Mademoiselle,” the Frenchman blurted out as he sprang to his feet. “You have caught me at a most awkward moment.”
“I should say so,” I said and glanced over at the stump in the middle of his ship where a main mast had once stood.
The Frenchman followed my gaze over to the stump and laughed. “Ohhh, that? No, no, no. I mean nature calls and I must take a pissier. If you’ll excuse me, Mademoiselle. I’ll hurry right back. I promise.”
Then rogue thrust his bottle into my hand and hopped up on the rail before I could say a word. My jaw went slack when he undid his trousers and started relieving himself in front of me!
“Ahhh!” he uttered and turned to smile at me. After finishing his business he buttoned up his trousers, jumped down from the rail and took his bottle back. He bent a knee and bowed. “That is so much better. French wine always goes straight through me, worse than German ale!”
“Who are you?” Hunter asked as he stepped aboard the Frenchman’s ship.
“Pardon, Monsieur? You do not know?”
“No.”
“Ah! Impossible! Comment cela se peut-il? How can this be? But I am famous in these waters!”
“You don’t say?”
“But I do say! I am Guillaume Le Testu, the master of this ship and your most humble, obedient servant.”
“Testu? Is that so? You look damn good for a dead man. It might interest you to know that the Spanish captured Testu at Nombre de Dios after Testu and Drake robbed the Silver Train. Drake and Testu took some thirty tons of gold and silver - or so the story goes. The Spanish didn’t waste time with a trial and beheaded Testu on the spot. Your head appears to be still attached.”
“Oui, oui. What you say is true. That Testu, poor fellow, is dead. I am the son. You must be Hunter. I’ve heard of you. And you, my gracious lady, you are no doubt, Mary.”
“Aye, I am Mary and you, sir, are a pirate and scoundrel,” I replied, struggling to keep an even tone. I had to resist the urge to draw my sword and disembowel the man in front of his crew despite his charms.
“Pirate? Scoundrel? Such crass words! No, no, dear lady. I am no pirate. My men and I are free spirits, we are buccaneers, nothing more!”
“Buccaneers?” Hunter snapped. “How quaint. The Devil take me if there’s a whit of difference between the two!”
“Well, perhaps we can discuss the matter over supper? Different words used to say the same thing can nonetheless have different connotations, do you not agree? There are nuances to consider. If nothing more the word buccaneer at least has a ring of respectability!”
Hunter scowled at the Frenchman. “Trade wits with me now lad and you just might find yourself trading blows with me later at the point of a sword.”
Testu clapped his hands together. “S’il vous plait. Please, please my friends. You are my honored guests. Je suis désolé. I meant no offense.”
“Guests?” I asked and scoffed. “I think you mean to say that as my prisoner you wish to beg me for my mercy, sir.”
“Prisoner? No, no. And I do not beg for mercy. I beg to differ. We fight a common enemy. Why, we should sail together!”
“Sail together?” I asked sharply. “Great God, you’ve got spunk.”
The Frenchman looked at me, genuinely puzzled. “Why, why should we not sail together?”
“Are you serious? You attacked my ships awhile back, not far from these very waters. We are enemies. Sail together indeed, ha!”
The Frenchman threw his hands up and laughed. “That was before I knew who you were. Besides, you got the best of me that day if I remember. Not many do.”
“Indeed I did and I’ve got the best of you today as well.”
“How true, how true. The gods are fickle and viciously unkind. They are spiteful creatures and can be quite heartless when pursuing their perverse desire for amusement. I piss on them! At our prior meeting you were the mistress of a handsome galleon, yes? I thought you Spanish. Not many Irish in these waters, even fewer Irish with Spanish galleons. Alas, no harm done.”
