Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Hob leaned closer to him and whispered. “Be talk among the pirates that Erik’s been paid plenty by your uncle to keep you under his spyglass.”

  So, thought Baret. Then he was right. Felix did suspect him of looking for his father. What had Erik disclosed to him?

  “It’s evil news for you and your father, me lordship. That Erik be a hard man, and you know it.” Hob rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking at Baret’s scabbard. “Be your match with the blade maybe.”

  Baret knew that Erik was his match—it was Erik who had polished his fencing skills. Erik had been his mentor in England during the beginning of their friendship. Baret had still been a student at Cambridge then, and Erik was in London convalescing from a serious wound taken in the first war with the Dutch. “Ain’t be easy for you now, having Erik on the side of your uncle.”

  Baret bridled his anger and said, again too calmly, “And just where is the newly knighted Sir Erik?”

  “At the Red Goose, gamblin’.”

  Baret removed a piece of eight from his drawstring pouch and gave it to Hob with a faint smile.

  The turtler chuckled and, holding it up between thumb and forefinger, kissed it. “Har!” He laughed. He blew on it, then rubbed it on the front of his soiled tunic. “Spanish king ain’t be missing it, says I. And you be of a kinder heart to pass it on.” Hob offered the turtle. “Sure you won’t take the little green thing for soup?”

  “Another time, old pirate. A storm’s rising, and I’ve business with another.”

  Hob squinted out to the Caribbean where the water shone with silvery ripples. “A gale, says I, a real blow. Hard, from the feels of it. I’ll be in touch with you, me lordship, just as soon as I learn a thing or two.”

  With his anger toward Erik subdued beneath his calm demeanor, Baret left Hob at Chocolata Hole, troubled over his relationship with Erik Farrow. Erik had been the one buccaneer he counted as a friend.

  He frowned. Perhaps it was wiser for the present to allow Erik to go on believing that he trusted him. He would even suggest that Erik ride with him to Foxemoore to pay the needed visit to Sir Karlton Harwick. Even though Erik was sure to report everything he did to Felix, he must take that chance.

  Erik—friend or foe? He wondered.

  8

  JAMAICAN JUSTICE

  It seemed to Emerald that she had hardly closed her eyes in her father’s bed at the lookout house when Minette came with a lantern.

  Minette shook her, tears in her eyes as she knelt beside the bed. She was wet with rain, appearing to have just returned from somewhere.

  “Wake up, oh, wake up!”

  Emerald’s head throbbed from lack of sleep. She raised herself on an elbow, and one look at her cousin’s face convinced her of dark news. She sat up. “What is it?”

  “Jamie and Ty’s been sent to the magistrate early!”

  “What! But Mr. Pitt gave me until Friday!” Emerald threw aside the blanket and was on her feet. “My clothes, quick! What happened to my petticoat?”

  “It wasn’t with your other things. You must’ve dropped it when you ran here from the buggy.”

  In frustration Emerald looked about. She’d certainly not find a petticoat in her father’s room.

  “Wait!” Minette sped to a high cedar trunk in one corner. “There’s all kinds of frocks here.” Her eyes shone. “I’m not supposed to know about it, but this was sent here yesterday morning. A half-caste brought it to store here. It belongs to one of the captains who sailed with Morgan. The half-caste told me the frocks had been on their way to the viceroy’s daughter at Porto Bello. Imagine! The trunk was taken from a Spanish ship near Panama.”

  Emerald studied the trunk uneasily. “Why would it be stored here in my father’s lookout?”

  Minette shrugged. “He said the captain knew Uncle Karlton and that he wouldn’t mind. Said he would come for it in a week.”

  Emerald grew uncertain. As a privateer, Sir Karlton was involved in selling contraband to the colonies—she knew that much. On several occasions she had watched his large merchantman arrive in Port Royal laden with goods from Europe. She had once heard him secretly discussing transferring the goods from his ship to smaller, swifter vessels that could enter coves and trade for treasure undetected by the Spanish officials.

  Her father, however, wasn’t the only privateer trading with the Spanish colonies. Spain claimed, but could not enforce, an exclusive monopoly on trade with its colonies on the Main. Even so, her ships were unable to satisfy the colonists’ desire for European goods, and after the destruction of their two treasure fleets in 1656 and ’57, Spain’s commerce with her colonies had almost come to a halt.

  “I looked at the frocks,” said Minette, her eyes glowing as did Emerald’s at the thought. Minette knelt and opened the heavy top. “Vapors, they’re as fine as anything Lavender wears.”

  Emerald knelt beside her and gazed. “There look to be at least three with fancy petticoats.” She ran her palm across the yards of lace and shiny cloth. She lifted out first one gown and then another, judging their size, amid Minette’s moans and sighs.

  “Oh, Emerald, wouldn’t it be grand to own a gown like this one? And to be invited to Geneva’s wedding? The both of us, I mean.” Her face fell. “But that isn’t possible, is it,” she stated. “Even … even if you could go, I couldn’t, ’cause my mother was African.”

  Emerald avoided her eyes. They had discussed this on many occasions. It was far kinder not to give Minette false expectations. “No,” she said quietly. “It isn’t possible. Not for either of us.” Then she shrugged. “But I don’t want to go anyway, and you should forget such dreams. It’s enough that our futures belong in the hand of God. Surely He has good plans for us both.”

  Minette nodded and quickly changed the subject, but whether she accepted the verdict was another matter.

  “Look, Emerald—they call this ‘velvet’—and pearls it has,” she breathed. “You’d look mighty fine in it.”

  Emerald gave her a smile. “So would you. Here, let me see it.”

  If she’d not been in such a dire state of mind over the magistrate’s hearing, she would have sighed in admiration as did Minette. Now there was no time for that, she told herself and was swiftly to her feet. She held the dress up against her. “It’s too big for me. Look.”

  “I can pin it on you—and see!—ribbons to cinch in the waist—and a hat! Oh! That evil Mr. Pitt won’t be knowing who you are when you arrive to stop him.”

  “He’s at the courthouse?” cried Emerald.

  “Yes, I saw him. He asked if you’d seen Levasseur, and I said you couldn’t get the dowry.”

  “So that’s why he’s aiming to see Jamie and Ty whipped. I must stop him. There’s still a chance. Oh, Minette, you shouldn’t have told him.”

  “He frightens me, the way he stares at me.” The girl shivered. “And before I knew what I’d done, it was too late.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Emerald ran to the tall bureau. “Swiftly then. Help me into it, and let’s hope I can walk in it as fine as Lavender prances about. We haven’t a moment to lose. If I accomplish little else at the hearing, at least Mr. Pitt will be sure to think I’ve gotten what he wanted from Levasseur’s ship after all—and a few prizes of my own.”

  During the night there had been a brief alarm. A small ship had dropped anchor at the eastern end of the channel to await daylight. As Emerald and Minette made their way on foot toward the town square, the commander at Fort Charles was sending a longboat out to identify the vessel’s captain.

  The fishermen too had been busy during the night, despite the rain. June was the month when thousands of turtles crawled ashore on the cays and beaches to lay their eggs and were easily captured.

  On the beach, as she and Minette walked past the fish markets, appreciative heads turned toward Emerald. For the first time she felt like some wealthy planter’s daughter, and she held her hat in place, making certain that it covered her hair. Her tres
ses had been hopelessly unmanageable after her swim, and there’d been no time to rinse out the salt. She had it pinned up out of sight beneath the wide-brimmed hat with its pretty escalloped edging of lace.

  She glimpsed several fenced areas known as turtle crawls near the water’s edge. A bent old fisherman was transferring turtles from his small craft to the crawls, where they would be kept alive until needed at the market. She recognized the friendly character as Hob, who sometimes sold turtles to Uncle Mathias.

  Hob stared at her, unbelieving, lifted his hat to scratch his tangled white locks, then replaced it.

  “Sure now … is that you, Miss Emerald?”

  “It is,” she called, holding onto her hat and smiling. “And I’ve some Buckington blood in me too.”

  “Har!” He laughed. “Ain’t one to argue with a fine lady.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the anchored ships. “I be meetin’ with his lordship soon.”

  She wasn’t certain what he meant and was anxious to find the magistrate.

  “You be wantin’ a turtle?” he called.

  She shook her head and hurried on.

  Other small boats, belonging to the water men, were coming in from their night’s work between Port Royal and the mouth of the Rio Cobre on the northwest corner of the harbor. Because there was no fresh water in Port Royal, all water was brought from the river in large wooden casks. The pirates used the water to dilute their hellish kill-devil rum, which was the main liquid sold in the taverns. Emerald had heard that newcomers, upon drinking it, would develop a high fever that often took their lives.

  Unlike the water men and fishers, there was no early start for those who had spent the night in the taverns and gambling dens. Emerald steered clear of the dazed sea rovers who, with empty pockets and bleary eyes, were frowning at a new day. She saw patrols of militiamen hauling men off to the lockup, a small jail near Fort Charles. Other prisoners were being escorted at pistol point to the magistrate for hearings before being ushered off to be deposited at Brideswell. Those judged for public punishment were herded to the town square, where hangings, water dunking, whippings, and brandings were carried out as a public spectacle.

  Ahead she could see that a crowd had already gathered. Surely Jamie and Ty were not there yet. Please, God, she prayed, picking up her skirts and beginning to run toward the square. Save Jamie and Ty!

  Minette had run ahead and now came rushing back, her face contorted. “Hurry,” she screamed. “They have Ty!”

  Emerald raced breathlessly into the courtyard, revolted by the sight of the gathered townsfolk. It seemed a bitter thing to her that the inhumane punishments were always well attended and enjoyed by the spectators, many of them gleeful that they themselves had escaped arrest during the night. Depending on the nature of the crime, the prisoners might be kept bound in the stocks the entire day and pelted by garbage and rocks.

  Mr. Pitt was nowhere in the crowd, and the magistrate had already left, presumably anxious to go home to his comforts and breakfast. Evidently this morning he had been in a particularly disgruntled mood, for as she looked anxiously about for Jamie, she gasped. Two runaway slaves had already been hanged!

  She stepped back, her fist going to her mouth to silence a horrified cry.

  The men’s owner was shouting angrily. “Foulness from the pit, that’s what it was! You all saw! I begged the magistrate to let ’em go. Do you think I wanted this loss? The punishment was too strict. Now I’m out two slaves, and the magistrate goes home to fill his belly!”

  “Best keep your silence, Tom, or you’ll be dunked for insurrection,” advised one of the crowd.

  A fire was crackling near the pillory, and Minette grabbed her arm, pointing. “There’s Ty. They have my brother.”

  Emerald was sickened by the sight and clenched her fists. “The animals.”

  Ty was held fast in the pillory frame that would hold his head and wrists still for the branding. The magistrate’s man thrust the branding iron into the flames.

  “Stop!” cried Emerald, rushing forward. “He’s my slave! You turn him loose this moment. If you don’t, I’ll have the governor-general throw you into Brideswell yourself!”

  The man stopped and looked at her, and a buzzing broke out from the crowd.

  A captain of the magistrate walked up then, his sweating face perturbed. He scanned her attire and lifted his hat. “You be related to Mr. Pitt from Foxemoore, miss?”

  “Mr. Pitt,” she said heatedly, “is a fiend. But I am a Harwick. My father is Sir Karlton. Release this slave at once.”

  “I canna do that, miss. The slave’s a runaway. He’s been brought before the magistrate early this mornin’ and condemned to brandin’, and there’s no stoppin’ it. Now, miss,” he said more kindly, “this be no place for a lady. You best have your driver take you home. There’ll be a shipload of new slaves arrivin’ on the fifteenth, and you can get yourself another boy.”

  Emerald’s horror and rage mounted as he gestured to the man to proceed.

  “Go home, Emerald,” came Ty’s cracked voice. “You tell my grandfather I’m all right. I’m takin’ it like a man.”

  “Ty! I’ve tried—”

  “I know. You go. Don’t watch. Jamie escaped!” he said victoriously. “He’s out to find a ship, and he will too. He’ll send word—”

  Emerald cried out as the branding man came between them. “No, please!”

  She tried to break past, but the captain took hold of her arm. “Now, miss, he’s right. There’s nothin’ you can do for him now. You go home.”

  Emerald caught a horrifying glimpse of the man with the branding iron thrusting it firmly onto Ty’s forehead. A faint moan came from the boy, and she heard a sickening hiss.

  Ty did not cry out, but Minette fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

  Ty fainted, and, unless she could do something to stop it, he would remain in the pillory throughout the heat of the day to be tormented by flies. “Lord,” she whispered, and her helplessness stung her eyes with tears. She stood there overwhelmed, the sight emblazoned on her soul.

  “Calhoun!” the captain called. “See the lady and her serving girl to their carriage.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she cried, jerking free of Calhoun’s hand. “Your cruelty will come back on your own heads, you’ll see.”

  “Yes, miss, I be understandin’ your feelin’. But lest you become the governor-general hisself, or maybe his daughter, you ain’t goin’ to be the one to stop the laws of Jamaica and Barbados.”

  He limped away. Emerald stood, desolate.

  Minette was still kneeling, weeping, and Emerald knelt and drew her near. She remembered her decision to appeal to her cousin at Foxemoore. “We won’t give up yet.”

  As she led Minette from the square, she saw Jonah standing on the outskirts, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

  The throng parted for her to walk through, but from the expressions on some of those standing there, mainly the riffraff of the town, she believed that if she had not been dressed as some fine lady she might have been rudely accosted. Since no one was quite certain who she was, all held back, afraid to offend some father who might prove to be related to the governor-general.

  Jonah was waiting for them and placed his arm around his granddaughter. Emerald could see how deep was his misery.

  And yet, before Minette he sought to conceal his despair. His words cut through Emerald. “Why, brandin’ ain’t everything, Minette child,” he murmured.

  “Oh, Grandfather, it is! It is!”

  Despite himself, tears welled up in Jonah’s eyes and rolled between the creases in his cheeks. “They might’ve hung him,” he mumbled.

  Emerald was touched deeply by his courage to seek for something to be thankful for, something to comfort Minette.

  The thought that Jamie might elude capture kindled hope. But what if he were caught? What dreadful sentence would be heaped upon him? Mr. Pitt had threatened to have him hanged.

 
Somehow she must convince Lavender to intervene. Rousing her cousin to take action that might cost her something in the eyes of the family appeared an impossible feat. Still, Emerald told herself, I must try.

  She left Jonah loitering on the edge of the public square, hoping to alleviate some of Ty’s suffering as the heat of the day grew by bringing him water and seeking to anoint the burning wound with salve. It dawned on her as she left that he had not truly believed she would succeed. He had brought salve, knowing he would need it.

  With Minette, she arrived at the waiting buggy, gratefully discovering that the pirate who had lingered the night before was gone.

  How swiftly life’s plans were altered, thought Emerald wearily as she drove back to Foxemoore. Ty was forever marked as a runaway, a seal of doom that would follow his running feet down any path he might flee seeking refuge.

  Refuge. Where was it for a slave who was robbed of his manhood, his creation in the image of God? Ty believed in the Lord Jesus and in the promise in Scripture of being a child of God through the righteousness of Christ. But he had not been spared the shameful agony of being branded and dehumanized.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she drove the buggy down the road, and she blinked hard in order to see ahead. For the rest of his days, however long they were, whether in chains or as an escaped slave, Ty’s mark, like Cain’s, would bring him under the suspicious eye of others. And what would the future hold? Even if light came to her own darkness, what of Ty, Minette, and Jonah? What hope did they have for relief? What of the thousands of slaves and political prisoners who were brought as mere animals to Jamaica and the other colonies on the Main?