“They hang pirates,” he announced smoothly, a faint sardonic expression around his mouth. “Are you any better?”
5
THE BUCCANEER
Emerald threw the cherished pendant across the cabin to distract him. When his attention was taken to where it landed and he straightened from the doorway in annoyance over its treatment, Emerald darted under his arm.
His fingers briefly caught the back of her hair before she slipped away from his grip, leaving the blue scarf in his hand. She raced like a fleeing hind with wolves at her heels across the quarterdeck and down the stairs.
Zeddie! Where was Zeddie!
Emerald glanced back to see Captain Foxworth coming down the steps after her. He did not call out, though surely he could have had a dozen men quickly at his command.
In horror, she straddled the ship’s rail, giving one last glance in his direction. “Please! Stay away!” she gasped.
He stopped at the foot of the companionway and seemed to contemplate her hair, streaming in the trade wind.
“Well, now,” he said. “At least you’re not a cabin boy.”
“I’ve a dagger,” she suggested in a warning tone.
He folded his arms, and she saw his smile in the moonlight. “I tremble. What is your name? Do you have parents?” He gave a laugh. “A doxy for a mother, no doubt. I suppose you both make your living preying on poor pirates with honest hearts?”
She ignored the goading humor. She hesitated, trembling, uncertain about him, looking away to the dark shimmering waters below. A quarter mile to shore!
He walked slowly toward her.
Emerald leaned toward the sea. “Stay away.”
“You’re to be congratulated,” he said. “There aren’t many who manage to secretly sneak aboard. Your skills must surely inspire songs in the bawdy houses.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Stay away, or I’ll jump.”
He folded his arms. “Go ahead,” he challenged with a smile.
“I will!”
He bowed and gestured to the sea. “But if you get lost out there, don’t say I didn’t warn you. And don’t think I’ll take pity and bother to send a longboat. If you do drown like a sodden mouse, Port Royal will be less one thief. You’d surely grow into one of the worst wenches that could plague a man.”
Stung, she cried, “I am not a thief! I’m a lady!”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“You blackguard! You’re no better than Rafael Levasseur!”
At the name of Levasseur his manner swiftly changed. “What do you know of him?”
Emerald swallowed and remained silent. Did he know her cousin well?
His eyes narrowed. “Down from the rail with you, you sniffy little brat. With what other of my cherished goods did you think to run off with?”
As he came toward her, Emerald slipped over the rail and dove straight into the Caribbean, hardly making a splash. She began swimming toward the distant shore.
He leaned over the rail. “Go on with you then! And if I find so much as a thread missing from my cabin I’ll come looking for you, if I have to invade every bawdy house in Port Royal. Enjoy your midnight swim,” he challenged. “By the time you get to shore maybe you’ll have learned a thing or two! And if I ever catch you or any other thieving doxy sneaking into my cabin, I’ll dangle all of you from the yardarm!”
“Fly your skull and crossbones, Captain Foxworth!” she cried breathlessly. “You’ll surely hang at Execution Dock!”
She heard him laughing.
Oh! she thought furiously, already shivering. She continued to swim toward shore. Several times she paused to catch her breath and, glancing back, was certain that he watched her progress with a spyglass. Whether it was to see if she could make shore or in malicious satisfaction of witnessing her struggle, she was not sure.
Mustering all the remaining determination in her body, she swam on toward Port Royal.
But Zeddie. Where was poor Zeddie? Dear God, what have I done?
Hiding behind the barrels on the wharf, still wet and shivering from her long swim, Emerald waited to hear the welcome sound of Zeddie’s returning with the cockboat. Several hours crept by before she resigned herself to the worrisome fact that he would not be coming.
He was caught! He had to be! He would’ve been here by now! Oh, Lord, please take care of him. This is all my wrongdoing. Please help us.
Disillusionment assailed her. Where was the hope to continue believing that she could succeed? Yet how could she give up and return to Foxemoore and leave Jamie and Ty to the injustice of the magistrate? There must be something she could do! But what?
The sky became heavy with rain clouds as an unexpected frontal assault of wind brought in the warm humidity of the sea. The threat of a tropical squall did nothing to sober the sea rovers, however. A brawl broke out somewhere, and pistol shots rang from the direction of the Spanish Galleon gambling den.
Winking back tears of weariness and frustration, Emerald was faced with little choice, in the absence of Zeddie, but to return to Foxemoore. I must get home.
Beneath the big guns of Fort Charles, recently renamed in recognition of the king’s return to the throne, Emerald ran along Fisher’s Row close to the sea, darting here and there to take cover when she heard rum-sodden voices.
This narrow old street could have told tales of Spanish treasure looted from Cartagena, from Hispaniola, from Porto Bello. Many of the town’s inhabitants were rich with pieces of eight, silver plate, gold, emeralds, and pearls. Pirated treasure circulated freely, exchanging hands in the taverns, much of it ending up in the hands of the planters themselves.
Her feet sped over the cobblestones. These had been brought as ballast on the ships, like the bricks that had been used to build the wealthier houses and shops cramming Port Royal. Nearly everything in Jamaica, except sugar and turtles, had to be imported.
“’Tis the glaring Achilles heel of Jamaica in time of war,” her father had once remarked, scowling. “King Charles is making a mistake calling home Commodore Myngs to fight the Dutch. Who can guard Jamaica now but the buccaneers from Tortuga?”
She was intent on reaching the western end of Fisher’s Row at High Street and emerged near the square where Zeddie had parked the buggy. But on arriving, to her alarm she saw a pirate sprawled on the buggy seat with a jug of rum, looking as though he intended to spend the wee hours there to sleep off his stupor.
Her head jerked at a loud challenge: “The devil take you, you jackanapes!”
“Sink me if’n you think you can best me!”
Not more than ten feet from where she crouched in the shadows she saw two more pirates with drawn blades. Although dueling was strictly forbidden, the buccaneers obeyed no law but their own.
One made a murderous lunge. The other parried in a flash that dazed her.
How pirates inflamed on kill-devil rum managed their wits enough to stay alive she could never guess, but Uncle Mathias said they drank it instead of water and were accustomed to the venom of poisonous serpents.
The familiar ring and clash of metal filled her ears. She winced.
But what caused her heart to thud brought a cheer from the pirate sprawled in her carriage. He flung his hat down. “Esprit de corps,” he shouted, as though a friendly contest were underway to entertain him.
The clouds gathering overhead sent a sudden squall of rain, but the men were oblivious.
Emerald huddled in the darkness, squinting against the downpour pelting her face. In dismay she wondered what to do. If the ill circumstances that had plagued her footsteps all night continued for the remainder of the late hours, the pirate who had comfortably claimed her carriage would surely fall asleep there!
Again tears filled her eyes. Lord, help me.
She looked up as, from somewhere ahead, the echo of running feet clattered over the cobbles in her direction. Her spirits brightened. A patrol of militiamen? she wondered hopefully, teeth chattering.
The militia, weak as it was, tried to serve the governor-general in an attempt to keep the peace. The buccaneers had the run of the town, and few attempts were made by the authorities to control them, for both Council and merchants feared that the pirates might take their stronghold back to Tortuga and leave Jamaica vulnerable to an attack by Spain.
The church-attending citizens complained to the governor-general of the violence and debauchery. “Will you bring the judgment of Sodom and Gomorrah upon us?” But it was to no avail. What was a disturbance of the peace compared to the profits earned by the merchants and the protection they received against Spanish invasion?
But as Emerald huddled there, her hopes were dashed. It was not the militia who came running but more pirates to choose sides in the duel.
A privateer pushed his way through the group, and she recognized the Dutchman Roche. A former planter in Brazil, he had been expelled and came to Port Royal to launch a new career as a pirate. It was said that Roche feared nothing and had proven his claim by capturing a Spanish galleon right under the guns of Fort Havana.
Roche was captain of a large following, including an elite band of black pirates who had escaped slavery on the West Indies plantations. Bearing cutlass instead of hoe, they were welcomed among the crews of the buccaneers as brothers. They had signed the “Articles”—the law of the buccaneers—and had sworn that they would never be taken alive to return to slavery.
As Emerald watched from her hiding place, one of the black pirates walked up to the Dutchman, lugging a barrel of rum on his shoulder. He was tall, with a shaven head, and big gold earrings flashed in the torchlight.
At the Dutchman’s order he smashed open the keg with his cutlass. The Dutchman stepped forward and drew a long-barreled gilt-edged pistol. He leered at the two men who had now ceased their duel.
“You’ll drink with your captain, both of you! And if you don’t, I’ll cut the liver out of the first hog who don’t honor me!”
With the pistol pointed at them and scorn written on his pocked face, he stood by the barrel and gestured for his crew to bring mugs.
Emerald held her arms, teeth chattering. Please, God, don’t let them see me.
How often did Uncle Mathias and the other ministers warn Port Royal’s inhabitants that their violence, injustice, and immorality would bring a day of reckoning with a holy God?
She closed her eyes and covered her face. For a desperate moment she went so far as to wish to see the arrogant and handsome buccaneer she had just escaped aboard the Regale.
O God, I don’t know what to do! If only You would bring my father home from the sea!
Praying about her father brought a sudden thought: What of his lookout house near the guns of Fort Charles?
Yes, of course! She’d been so upset that she’d forgotten. Thank You, Lord. She could find her way there easily and wait until morning to take the carriage back to Foxemoore. The lookout would be a welcome refuge from the rainy night, and perhaps there would even be dry clothing available. By morning light her hopes might be renewed. Why, Zeddie might even somehow manage to escape.
The lookout appeared deserted as the rain beat against its tall, narrow structure. Houses and shops, crammed together in what looked to be a solid mass along the town’s edge, were built upon the unstable foundation of the sandy cay reaching out far into the harbor waters. It was here, extending into the bay, that her father’s lookout house was located.
Emerald always had an uncomfortable feeling as she made her way past these houses built on pilings driven into the sand. She couldn’t help but remember the Lord’s parable about the two builders. When the storm came, the house on the sand collapsed. “And great was the fall of it,” He had said.
Am I truly building my life and its future on the words and will of the Lord? she wondered. Just what purpose did God have for her?
She approached the lookout, and the head wind from the sea chilled her wet clothing as she climbed the steep wooden steps toward its oval door. She paused.
High above in the lighthouse-style window a feeble lantern glowed. Had her father returned sooner than expected? Oh, if it were only so! She yearned to feel his strong arms around her, granting security once again.
Exhausted, wet, cold, wishing for hot tea or coffee, she placed her hand on the latch and squared her shoulders.
This was one night when she would not be turned out of her father’s beloved abode to sleep amid barrels and barnacles! She would sleep in his old seabed and cover herself with comfortable blankets.
To her surprise the door was unlocked, and she stepped inside.
All at once she entered a different world, where dry surroundings and a promise of safety brought relief. Her gaze swept the steep flight of steps that led up to her father’s room.
Standing on the stairs and holding, presumably, the lantern she had seen in the upper window, was a stoop-shouldered African with white hair, tall and thin beneath a dark woolen sea coat that reached to his knees.
“Jonah!” she cried.
The grandfather of Ty and Minette started. “Miss Emerald! Is you hurt? Where’s Zeddie?” He took in her disheveled array with alarm. Then he shuffled down the steps, holding the lantern before him.
Almost immediately he was joined on the stairs by Minette. She clambered down after her grandfather, her form lost within an ankle-length tunic.
Minette was unusually pretty. She had amber eyes and a unique shade of wavy hair the color of honey, which framed her poignant face. Her mother had been a chieftain’s lovely daughter from Guinea. With education and proper dress, Emerald believed, Minette would do well in getting a worthy husband. She had already considered the possibility of bringing the girl with her and Jamie to New England but had not yet broached the idea to Jonah.
“Did you get your mother’s dowry?” Minette cried.
Emerald saw the light shining in their eyes. They looked on her as their one human hope that would save grandson and brother from whipping and branding. She had no heart left to tell them she had failed, that both Ty and Jamie would be left to the injustice of tomorrow’s hearing at the courthouse.
Jonah must have taken notice of her paleness, for the light went from his eyes and his thin shoulders sagged as though he guessed the plan had not worked. Yet he showed nothing to his granddaughter and gently scolded her.
“Where’s your high-flung manners, child? And after all the schoolin’ Miss Emerald’s given you with her books and Bible and such. Let her catch her breath!” He rested a gnarled, overworked hand on her shoulder. “Run get that coffee in the cook house.”
When Minette reluctantly left, looking back, Emerald nearly collapsed.
Jonah caught her. “You going straight to bed. I’ll send Minette to see you outer them wet clothes.”
“I can’t deceive you. I’ve failed,” she whispered.
His eyes brimmed with tears. “I knows, Emerald. You needn’t say nothing more. But Mr. Mathias says the Holy One who makes wind to blow and rain come down has His ways in the whirlwind and the storm.”
“I won’t give up,” she said wearily, holding his arm as they walked to the steps. “I’ll be doing what I can tomorrow.”
“Yes, you bound to keep trying. And maybe Sir Karlton be home tomorrow.”
But they both knew he would not, and she looked away from his careworn face.
Later that night, Emerald fell into her father’s bed, exhausted, yet sleep eluded her. She lay there hearing the wooden building creak in the wind and the rain pound the window, rattling the pane that faced seaward. She could never get used to the structure. Seawater sucked at the pilings and seemed to intimidate the foundation. She supposed her father loved the lookout house because it reminded him of a ship at sea.
Her anxious thoughts turned inevitably back to Mr. Pitt and his demand for jewels. The possibility remained that she might still get what she needed from her cousin. The Regale had not been his ship, and she had made a fool of herself before its arrogant cap
tain, but there was no mistaking that her cousin was in Port Royal.
She might make good on her first plan to board his ship if she knew where it was anchored. But even the thought of repeating the trauma she had faced tonight turned her squeamish. Besides, she no longer had Zeddie to aid her, nor did it seem the Lord was blessing her plans with success.
Zeddie! What if that buccaneer decided to try him for thievery? But perhaps Zeddie would evade him after all and make it safely to shore.
She might send a message to Captain Levasseur that she wished to see him. She could lower her dignity and plead with him to lend her the amount demanded by Mr. Pitt. But she knew her cousin too well to believe he would have sympathy for her cause in saving Jamie, especially if he discovered her plan to leave Jamaica and marry him.
Restlessly she tossed the cover aside and went to the window, peering out through the rain to where the ships were anchored. Somewhere out there were two ships she had particular interest in: her cousin’s and the Regale. She still blushed with shame, remembering the agony of being caught by the buccaneer who claimed her to be a wench and a thief. She shuddered. “Abstain from all appearance of evil,” the Scriptures said.
Oh, the gossip that would stain her already sullied reputation if the news got out that she had sneaked aboard Captain Foxworth’s ship in the dead of night dressed in calico drawers and a pirate’s scarf!
“I knew she was just like her mother all along,” she imagined Cousin Lavender saying to her gossipy friends, all daughters of rich planters and members of the governor-general’s Jamaican Council. And that vile Sir Jasper, just what would he say if he learned about it? He would think the worst, of course. No doubt he’d become even more offensive.
And her father! What would the stalwart privateer say as he scowled and insisted she explain every detail. What of dear and godly Great-uncle Mathias?
During the years between her thirteenth and sixteenth birthdays, she had the good fortune of having Mathias come to Jamaica from England, where he had taught theology at Cambridge. He had come to live at the Manor with her father, and she’d been taught the Scriptures and the love and acceptance of her heavenly Father.
Buccaneers Series Page 5
