The Butcher's Daughter, page 9
“We are well-armed and our men are seasoned fighters.”
“Aye, Mary,” Gilley said. “They all know how to fight and our men are brave. But few have any formal military training or experience in battle. We must train our lads to fight like soldiers, with one mind, as a single, cohesive battle unit. They must learn to fight with discipline. We must train them hard until they are prepared to face any determined foe. Fighting like a gang of back alley brawlers will only get us all killed.”
“Plainly, I’ve not yet grasped how dangerous this New World is that we sail to now. I am grateful to have you both. Do then what must be done.”
“And where will you be, Mary?” Hunter asked.
“I shall stay here and observe. Or I can retire to my cabin if you think me in the way.”
“Beg pardon, Mum, but nay,” Gilley said.
I looked at Gilley, confused. “Nay? Nay, what?”
“No,” Hunter said. “No you won’t stay up on the quarter deck and watch. You’ll report to the gun deck below with the rest of the crew to begin your training without delay. Remember the first rule of command, Mary.”
“Aye,” I replied sheepishly. “An officer must never ask a man to do what he is not prepared to do himself.”
“Good, very good. You have promise, sailor - now shake a leg Madame before I put your name on the Capt’n’s report for insubordination. Move that lovely, little rump...”
Standing in the middle of the main deck in the midst of a crowd of men, Hunter took a deep breath and studied the faces surrounding him - and then he paused to look at me. There was no smile, no gentleness about him.
He used his fingers to comb an unruly lock of hair off his forehead before he spoke. “Lads and lady, your carefree days of leisure aboard the Star are over. When you signed with this ship, the ship’s officers spoke frankly about where this ship would sail and of our intentions. The Caribbean lures men in with her seductive charms, but her waters can be deadly. How many of you have any experience with field artillery, with cannon? Let me see a show of hands. Captain Gilley, looks to be about half I’d say?”
“Aye, just about half, Master Hunter.”
“Very well. How many of you men have served time as gunners in the navy, any navy?”
“I count,” said Gilley, “six souls in all, Master Hunter.”
“Only six? Well, we shall see. We’ll need gun captains. If any of you can impress me with your skills at gunnery, I’ll promote you. Now all of you listen carefully. Pirates and privateers - there’s not much difference between the two - led by talented captains infest the Caribbean. These men are well-armed and ruthless. They’ll want what is yours and they’ll have no qualms about snatching your lives away to take whatever they want after you’re dead. We must be ready to fight and beat all challengers. We’ll train and train and train again until you drop. And then we’ll train some more. Now you see our good Lady Mary in our midst. She’ll be working side-by-side with us and whilst on this gun deck, she is simply Mary, a common sailor and you shall treat her so. She leaves her privileges of rank up on the quarter deck. Captain Gilley, Master Efendi, gentlemen, if you please, break the men down into teams, four men to each gun - and let the games begin.”
I have never been shy about getting my hands dirty as any man who has sailed with me well knows. And I have been in hand-to-hand combat and held my own. I know the art. But the great guns, I must confess, terrified me and I doubt whatever look I gave Hunter that day was a pretty one.
For the first few days our drills would have been comical but for all the cuts, the bruises and damaged egos suffered. We fumbled about opening gunports and stumbled at loading the guns and pulling on the side tackles to ease the noses of those heavy brutes around. No one worked together. Toes were pinched, fingers got scraped and more than one knee or elbow was cut or battered black and blue. Men cursed and fumed. Hunter seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when watching me and my own buffoonery. I was more than a tad annoyed at him in the beginning. But I held my tongue, determined to prove my pluck to one and all. I even gave up my great cabin and slept in a hammock near the guns with the rest of the gun crews.
We practiced for hours, for days and weeks. We practiced in our sleep. We learned how to use a flexible rammer to ram a charge home and then how to ram the ball down snuggly against the charge. We learned how to prime the breech and run out the guns using the training tackle. We learned how to efficiently ease the gun around with an iron handspike to point the beast in the correct direction. We learned about windage and elevation and how to keep our linstocks always burning, even in the rain. We learned how to move in the dark and, should any man fall in battle, we learned how to keep working the guns - no matter what - as tacklemen, handspikemen, shellmen and as gun captains. The guns, Hunter repeated over and over and over again, the guns were all that mattered in a fight. We committed all the commands from sponge your guns, to fire on the swell, to as your guns bear, to memory. We learned how to fight on instinct, by rote, without wasting precious time on thinking. We learned how to fight as one.
And then the day finally came when Hunter gathered us all around wearing a wide grin and pronounced us ready. He opened up the ship’s magazine to us and we gunners practiced the art of gunnery under his watchful eye using real ball and powder. For several hours we practiced blasting away at a small, makeshift raft Phantom had in tow. The raft I must confess survived our gunnery drills. No matter, the exhilaration that filled me that day, a feeling not unlike the ecstasy of new-found love, even now makes me smile.
“Are you still raw about it my darling, gunner’s mate?” Hunter asked me as we laid side-by-side in my bunk.
“No,” I answered, savoring love’s afterglow. I nestled my head against his bare chest while he gently stroked my hair.
“I’m proud of you, Mary. You’ve handled yourself well and the lads will respect you the more for it.”
“I’m proud of myself. Hmmm. How did you become so wise?”
“Wise? Ha! Not me. Wisdom belongs to priests and poets. But soldiering? Ah, well now, that comes easy to me.”
“It would seem that lust, raw and uninhibited, comes easy to you as well.”
Hunter laughed and ran his fingers down my arms and legs, caressing my skin as we snuggled closer. “I rather like these new, taut muscles of yours. They’re erotic.”
I could feel him becoming aroused again. I softly cooed. My body ached for more. “A second helping? My, my, James, you have missed me. Mmm, what’s this now? Oh dear, I think someone’s gun is already primed and loaded.”
Hunter rolled on top of me. He eased himself inside me and timed his rhythmic movements, his exquisite thrusting, to the movements of the ship rocking back and forth over the ocean’s gentle swells. It did not take long until he had me. It did not take long until I was moaning with wave after wave of delirious, sensual pleasure.
Bucking against the prevailing Westerlies, we made slow but steady progress. With each passing day the sun felt a little warmer against the skin.
I lost Hunter to the Phantom and then over to the Godsend as he repeated his grueling gunnery drills using up fresh victims. More grist for the mill he liked to say. I missed him. I missed his smile, his touch. I missed his soft caresses. I admonished myself for my pathetic weakness. A silly school girl has better sense. But the heart will do what the heart will do.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught young Billy hobbling along the gun deck without his crutch. “Good morrow, Master Ferrell. How does your leg mend?”
The boy doffed his hat and nodded. “It mends well, my ladyship. The ship’s surgeon is pleased. He has encouraged me to walk on it to rebuild my strength.”
“And well you should, Billy Farrell. We must find you a suitable position on this ship so that you may earn your keep then. Report to Captain Gilley later.”
“Aye, Mum.”
And then, without warning: BOOM!
I froze for an instant, as did we all, and then I saw a puff of white smoke rising off a single gun mounted atop Godsend’s forecastle. I could see Hunter waving at us and pointing to the sky. No, not the sky. He was pointing to a pair of wings fluttering close by. Land.
“What is it, Mary?” Gilley asked as he tried to catch his breath after bolting up the companionway to come stand with me.
“‘Tis a salute from our astute Master Hunter. He spied a bird flying overhead. Land cannot be far off.”
“Praise the Almighty!” Gilley said and crossed himself. “I feared someone had blown himself up. Well now, we’ve come these many leagues across the great ocean with no storms of any mention and not one soul lost. ‘Tis a good omen, Mary.”
I nodded my agreement. We had been most fortunate so far.
“Shall we signal Fox and Green to shorten sail and heave to, Tom? The skies are clear and the water is calm enough to launch a longboat. I think it best to assemble all the officers together and weigh things out.”
“All the officers, Mary or just our own?”
With three ships and three crews, we had to hire more officers in Westport to sail with us, men with unproven skills and unknown loyalties. Gilley, Hunter, Green, Fox, Efendi and Ferguson - all tried and true - were mine.
“Right you are, Tom. Just our own.”
After a hearty meal of pottage and slices of fresh pork with mellow wine - I had allowed one pig on each ship to be slaughtered to celebrate the day - young Master Ferrell moved around the cabin to clear away the table. Gilley had assigned the boy the menial task of ship’s boy and my personal attendant, leastwise until his leg was fully healed.
I glanced around the table. Except from afar, I hadn’t seen Fox or Green for nearly two months. They were both tan and lean and had grown full beards to mask their boyish faces. They looked like seasoned ship’s officers now. And so they were.
Hunter unrolled a chart of the Caribbean across the table. “I suspect we’re about here, a bit north of Barbuda,” he said, pointing to an island in the middle of the chart. “If we continue sailing due west along this line, we’ll approach these larger islands known as the Greater Antilles. Cuba, San Juan Bautista - or what traders are calling Puerto Rico now - Hispaniola, Jamaica, and the Cayman Islands are all occupied by the Spanish with large towns sprouting up everywhere. I’ve been to Havana in Cuba and to San Juan on the island of Puerto Rico. This string of smaller islands spread out to the east and south is known as the Lesser Antilles, or the Caribbees. I’ve set foot on Dominica, Guadeloupe and Trinidad but, as you can see, there are many more islands in this archipelago.”
“And what of the Indians?” I asked.
“The Greater Antilles are inhabited by the Taíno, or the Borinquen in Spanish. Most are dead now, killed in war or by diseases the Spanish brought over with them from our world like smallpox. And the Taíno have not fared well in slavery. That is why the Spanish are importing Africans by the thousands to work the land. The Caribbees are ruled by a different people, the Caribs. Think of the ancient Viking raiders and you’ll have some notion of who the Caribs are. They were slaughtering the Taíno and seizing Taíno land long before Columbus.”
“And the Spanish haven’t tried to conquer them?” I asked.
“Not with any heart. The Caribs are a proud people. They are fearsome warriors and capable mariners on the open sea. The Spanish have avoided them. Fortune has had a hand in protecting the Caribs too. Their islands have no gold or silver ore deposits to speak of.”
“I take it we’d be too conspicuous in New Spain or Florida or somewhere along the coast of the Spanish Main?” Gilley asked.
Hunter smiled. “I doubt the New World has yet suffered many Irishmen, let alone a feisty Irish lass.”
“The Spanish don’t occupy these smaller islands?” Efendi asked, tracing his finger along the Caribbees on the map.
“No, not in force anyway.”
“And there are good anchorages and fresh water on some of these islands?”
“Mustafa, I think we are of like mind.”
“And what would that be, gentlemen?” I asked.
“If we want to be inconspicuous, Mary,” Hunter offered, “we should stay clear of the big islands. The same is true of Florida, New Spain and the Spanish Main. One of these small islands in the Caribbees should do us nicely.”
“And what of these hostile Indians you have spoken of?” I asked.
“We make a treaty with them. We pay them tribute for their friendship. I made certain before we sailed that we had men on board fluent in Spanish, French, Portuguese and Italian. We’ll be able to speak to the Caribs in one of those languages.”
I had my doubts about the wisdom of Hunter’s plan and suddenly was having second thoughts about the whole enterprise. I had not sailed all the way to the New World to kill any Indians or to lose any men in a war we had no part in. And paying tribute did not sit well with me either. Tribute is what had chased us out of Ireland.
Hunter sensed my indecision. “Mary, there are risks no matter what we do, no matter what you decide. Why not explore a few of these smaller islands? I see no harm in that at least. We can sell what we brought with us and always return to Ireland if you like.”
All eyes were fixed on me as I took a moment to think matters through. Hunter’s quiet confidence stirred my blood just as much as his handsome, rugged face - and his fine physique. I had always drawn strength from his confidence, especially from his confidence in me.
“The Caribs have no love for the Spanish I take it?” I asked.
“None.”
“Let us explore a few of these islands then. We’ll let the Caribs know that we mean them no harm, that we are no friends of the Spanish. Perhaps we can do some business with them once they understand we don’t want slaves or land.”
“Pick one, Mary,” Gilley said, chuckling.
I pointed to the Lesser Antilles on the map. “Tell us what you know about these islands in the Caribbees, James.”
“Not too much, I fear. Columbus explored some of them. Antigua has a fine harbor I’ve heard, but Columbus couldn’t pacify the Caribs there and left. Columbus named this island Doménica, the Italian word for Sunday, because he discovered the island on a Sunday. The Caribs call it Waitikubuli which means tall is her body. Doménica is a rugged, mountainous island of great beauty. At the top of one mountain there is a pool of sweet, cool water feed by a stream flowing through caves deep within the mountain. The pool is most refreshing to bathe in. The waters then then spill over cliffs and down the mountain forming a splendid waterfall. Guadeloupe, or Karukera, which means something like island with beautiful waters, is where Columbus discovered the piña de Indias, the pine of the Indians, or what we English call a pineapple. It is a most extraordinary and delicious fruit. Columbus named the island Santa María de Guadalupe de Extremadura after the image of the Virgin Mary venerated at the Spanish monastery of Villuercas in Guadalupe, Extremadura though I know not why.”
“And what of this island near the mainland to the south called Trinidad?’ I asked.
“Ah, Trinidad is a very fine island, but the Spanish occupy the place. Worse, the pirate clans rule it. Contraband moves freely through the Puerto de España. The port is well-known for its bazaars and many slave markets. This is where the Spanish like to gather to buy their Negroes brought over to the New World from West Africa like oxen in the slave ships. Some are sent to the pearl fisheries on nearby Isla Margarita. The rest are taken to other islands by their new masters to work the land. Trinidad is a pit of lechery, treachery and villainy. We should avoid Trinidad or, at the very least, not tarry there for very long.”
I put my finger on the Port of Spain. “But this is where we can sell our cargo?” I asked.
“Aye,” Hunter replied with a sigh as he thought he knew my thoughts. “That is true.”
“Very well, Guadeloupe first,” I said on nothing more than a whim.
We sailed due south, tacking lazily back and forth for three more days in light winds. On the evening of the third day we dropped anchor in a small bay off an island formed by two mountains joined together by a narrow strip of land running north and south between them. On the sea chart Guadeloupe bore the likeness of a butterfly. I gathered all my officers for supper to consider a new plan.
“Gentlemen, this is as much your plan as it is mine. Like you, I am against making any kind of permanent settlement in these islands. I confess this was not my intention when we left Ireland. But I see now that we are surrounded by many potential enemies on all sides including Spaniards and Portuguese, Caribs, the French, privateers and pirates. None of them will want us here and no wooden fort will stop any determined foe.”
“Remember,” Hunter interrupted, “the story of the lost fort Columbus built from the timbers of the Santa María after she ran aground on the Island of Hispaniola? When Columbus returned the following year, he found only ashes, no fort, and none of his men. We should build no Villa de la Navidad in the New World.”
“Quite so, James,” I said. “So, like nomads in the desert, we will keep moving. We’ll hop from one island to the next before we offend any host. We’ll sell our Old World cargo and use the proceeds to buy a runner or two, load them up with New World materials and goods and send them back to Ireland with Phantom as escort. While Phantom and the freighters sail back to Ireland, we’ll keep Godsend and the Star here in the Caribbean to find and purchase more cargo for the next voyage. God only knows if we can turn a profit this way.”
Gilley was the first to endorse the proposal. “I’m heartened by this bold plan Mary and I vote aye without conditions. And I must say, if we rotate the men so they may see their homes and families it will do much to keep spirits high.”
Hunter stood and nodded. “An excellent suggestion, Tom. We all know of the grim pestilence ravaging Europa like the plague. Men being men will want to fornicate with the women here, Indians, Africans or women from any of the Europa kingdoms, it won’t matter to any man whose blood is hot for the fairer sex. But we best remind the lads of the great pox, syphilis. We cursed the Indians with smallpox and they returned the favor with the great pox. A moment’s pleasure is hardly worth a slow and hideous death. And God help the man who has carnal knowledge with a Carib woman. That man will disappear during the night until we find his body parts scattered all about the jungle in the morning and any peace we make with these people will suffer for it. If the men know they’ll be returning home every few months or so it should help dampen their desires. If not, well, they best learn how to fuck a tree for I will surely fuck them for putting all of our lives in jeopardy. I swear it.”
