by Kate Dolan
“I wouldn’t mind a jewel or two myself.”
“They’d look right beautiful around your monkey neck.”
It was now past the time for Edward to return to meet with the governor, but he wanted to know if what he was hearing was really as it seemed. It almost sounded like a crew discussing the plunder from a raid. With no legitimate privateers in the water, the only crews taking prizes would be pirates.
Did his ears hear correctly? Was Eden taking a cut from their plunder? That seemed incredible. It was one thing to take a share from smugglers, who were, after all, merely merchants seeking to avoid undue taxation. It was something else entirely to profit from outright piracy. He must have heard the name wrong. But there was something said about a pardon…
These disturbing thoughts accompanied Edward on his walk back down the sandy street. And where was their ship?
When he reached the awning at the governor’s house, he looked at one of the men on the porch and gestured toward the coffeehouse. “Their ship? Where is it?”
“Fiddler Cove,” the man replied. “Best spot to careen in the colony. Only costs a bit.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Edward remarked dryly as he stepped past the man to knock on the door.
“You may enter,” called a voice.
“Ah, Captain Talbot.” The governor gave him a full smile for the first time that day—a slow, unpleasant smile revealing a mouthful of stained teeth. “We thank you for your generous offer to protect our colonial waters. However, we have decided it would not be appropriate to issue a letter of marque at this time.”
Edward had expected this answer, but he found it difficult to swallow all the same. “May I ask My Lord Governor why it would be inappropriate to issue a letter of marque against what surely you must consider to be…” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “…your enemy?”
“My dear captain.” The governor chomped on his pipe again. “It would not be appropriate because there is simply no need of such service.”
“We have no pirates in these waters,” the secretary added. “Your sloop is the only vessel on our horizon.” He grinned.
“We are a poor colony, indeed,” the governor continued apologetically, “and have nothing of value which would attract pirates. So, I am sorry to decline your offer, but I fear I must.”
“Then I see that our interview is at an end. Good day.” Edward was halfway up the street before he paused to take a breath.
The seamen waiting on the beach for Edward’s return had spent the better part of the morning speculating about what business their captain could have in this crude village. They could all tell the business had not gone well when they saw Edward approach them, his heels digging into the sand at a furious pace. As he drew closer, they saw a black scowl and each man tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
“Shove off,” Edward roared. He spat toward the village before climbing into the boat to head back to the Osprey.
Chapter Eleven
"'She is more precious than rubies: and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her.’”
The words woke Josiah from a fitful sleep; he had dreamed of rescuing Caroline Carter. In his dream, he had stood on the deck of a huge ship as it rolled back and forth in the waves. Miss Carter had fallen into the ocean and was waving her arms desperately for help. He kept trying to throw a line out to her, but his throws always fell short. When the sound of Charles’s voice broke this vision, Josiah jerked up, breathing hard.
“‘Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.’”
Peace? No. Worry, nothing but worry. Worry about saving her, worry about her respect…
“‘The Lord by Wisdom hath founded the earth; by understanding hath he established the heavens.’”
Wisdom? There was no wisdom in any of this. That was the trouble.
“‘So shall they be life unto thy soul, and grace to thy neck. Then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble.’”
“Charles, what are you doing?” Josiah was now fully awake and fully aware that Charles Carter was reading something aloud by the light of a sputtering candle.
“Nightly devotions,” Charles replied. “‘When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.’”
“I was not afraid. And, for that matter, my sleep was not sweet. I was having a rather unpleasant dream. But at least I was sleeping, which I am no longer. Now I am awake with the same wretched headache that brought me down here in the first place!” Josiah took a perverse pleasure from knowing his angry tirade had halted Charles’s endless stream of Bible reading.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, Mr. Throckmorton.”
“Yes, well, are you finished with your devotions now, Mr. Carter?”
“Two more verses, if I may, sir? A reading from the Book of Proverbs really helps me put the events of the day in perspective and prepare for the morrow.”
“Yes, I see. Get on with it, then do put out your light.”
“Thank you. ‘Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked, when it cometh. For the Lord shall be thy confidence, and shall keep thy foot from being taken.’ Goodnight, Mr. Throckmorton.”
Afraid. Fear. Again. Was Charles Carter trying to mock him?
“Mr. Carter, what were you reading just now?”
“The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 3. I left off with Verse 26.”
“Why did you choose that particular selection?”
“Of late, I frequently start or end my day with readings from Proverbs. These last few days, I have chosen my selections at random.”
“At random? So, you don’t know whether you will be reading about fear or retribution or…” Josiah tried to think back to sermons he’d heard to remember some Biblical themes “…salvation?”
“It is all about salvation, Mr. Throckmorton. But no, when I choose verses at random as I have these past few evenings, the selection of topic usually comes as a pleasant surprise.”
So all the discussion of fear must have been a coincidence.
The deck swarmed with pirates, all brandishing heavy, curved cutlasses. They roared and screeched; hands that weren’t carrying swords waved pistols. Then they all turned and looked at Josiah—and giggled. Every one of the faces was that of Miss Carter.
The giggling grew louder and more raucous. Some of the Miss Carters doubled over with laughter, others pointed with their swords. One of them used her sword to shove him against the railing of the ship. Three more of them, still laughing, pushed him over the side. He screamed and flailed and…
…found himself sitting up in his berth.
It was dark, and a damp, rotten smell filled the air. But everything was quiet. No roaring pirates, no giggling Miss Carters. Just the steady creaks and groans from the ship as she moved peacefully through the bay.
This voyage was destined to be unbearable. When Josiah was awake, a cracking headache split his thoughts into useless fragments, making him long for peaceful sleep. Now worries doomed him to torture in his sleep as well. He didn’t even want to think about what that last dream might mean.
He sat up and smoothed the hair back off his face. It was hot in the small cabin; perhaps his head would ache less in the cooler air outside. He had not undressed, since he feared they could be roused at any moment to find the ship in danger. Quietly, he slipped on his shoes and crept out of the cabin. Charles appeared to be sleeping sweetly, just as he had prophesied in his nightly devotions.
Outside, Josiah could not see any lights from the shore, but he did not know if that was because no one was awake in the vicinity or because the ship was now too far out to see any of the shore. Either way, it was lonely. He sighed.
What was he doing here? How would they find Miss Carter? And then—the dream forced him to address it—what would he do when they found her? Could he still marry the girl? She had behaved so irresponsibly. A
nd so wickedly. And so defiantly. Would she fit into his household? Into his life?
Polite society would be repulsed by her escapades. There was something unacceptable, almost unclean, about a woman who would so flaunt tradition and common sense. And time spent among brigands would make her even more repugnant to society. And he must, after all, move in society. She would not be accepted by anyone, ever again.
So, why was he here? If he really didn’t want her back and, indeed, felt it might even be better for her if she never came back to face life as a social pariah, why was he here? Maybe, when they reached the mouth of the bay, he should simply turn around and head back to his plantation.
He found, with surprise, that the idea did not even vaguely appeal to him. He had set out on this journey to help Charles Carter bring his sister home. And even though he didn’t know how they were going to do it, he somehow felt he owed it to Charles to see the thing through. At least, for a while.
Josiah breathed the wet, salty air and shrugged. His head still ached a little, when he thought about it, but it did not drive him mad as it had earlier. It felt good to move his shoulders. He glanced around to see if anyone observed him, and finding that none of the few seamen on deck looked in his direction, he lifted his arms to the night sky in a slow stretch. Then he shook his head briskly from side to side and wrung his wrists a few times. He would have stamped his feet as well but did not want to risk waking someone or calling attention to his exercises.
Instead, he took a few brisk steps, landing as softly as he could. Only a little headache remained; perhaps he would now be able to sleep. Charles was sleeping sweetly, he remembered, so he, too, would think of “sweet sleep.”
Words carry so much power, Josiah realized as he lay almost comfortably in his berth the next morning. His thought of sweet sleep had worked magic. He had fallen into a deep slumber soon after he lay down and awoke refreshed with no thoughts of bungled rescue attempts or mocking piratical ladies dressed in boys’ clothes.
Bright light filtering into the cabin indicated a morning well under way. Presumably, his cabin-mate was out making plans of some sort—or reading his morning devotions or his mid-morning devotions or his late-early-mid-pre-noon devotions. But no, the small, worn Bible lay on the tiny shelf next to Charles’s berth.
Josiah stretched languidly and enjoyed the graceful, rocking motion of the ship. He should rise and find some tasks to attend to. As a passenger, though, he didn’t see he had much to do on the ship until they arrived at the mouth of the bay. He should probably discuss plans with Charles, but that certainly wouldn’t take all day.
Breakfast would be nice about now. The nine hundred pounds of tobacco paid for meals on the passage, but no one would deliver those meals. If he wanted some breakfast, he would have to get it himself.
Josiah sat up, put his feet in his shoes and stretched again. The Bible on Charles’s shelf caught his eye. What were those magic words again? Something about sweet sleep. He should look up the whole verse.
He glanced at the door, expecting to see Charles enter just as he reached for his book. Then he chuckled. Charles always seemed to be telling others about the Holy Scriptures; he would no doubt be pleased to see Josiah pick up his Bible.
A ribbon bookmark opened to a section of the Book of Proverbs. Josiah scanned a few lines: something about the bread of wickedness…envying the oppressor…then he found it—Proverbs 3:24.
“When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.” Josiah read the verse four times then closed the book to see if he could repeat it from memory. Good. He would be able to sleep tonight as well!
He carefully replaced the book on the shelf. Leaving the cabin, he was surprised to find the air did not smell as foul as usual. He climbed the ladder to the upper deck without slipping and enjoyed a flood of sunshine.
At the beginning of the voyage, the captain had expressed some concern about the weather; in a few weeks they could expect hurricanes. But Josiah saw no cause for worry today, and in another day or two they would be off the ship. The expected storms might well be over before he and Charles found a ship for hire. Weather should be the least of their problems.
He spotted Charles talking to one of the seamen and waved a cheerful greeting as he headed in their direction.
No one had seen Captain Talbot for several hours, and the murmuring among the seamen grew ominous. A few of the rumors reached John Hardey through one channel or another, and included that the captain had made a deal with the Governor of North Carolina to smuggle tobacco past customs agents; that he had fallen in love with a local trollop and would keep the ship in Pamlico Sound until she agreed to accept his advances; that he had contracted the pox and was hiding in his cabin, drinking himself into a stupor; that he had lost his wits and blown his brains out with a silver-handled pistol. This last rumor seemed particularly unfounded, since a gunshot would have been noticed in the relatively tight quarters aboard the Osprey.
The reality had to be better than the rumors, and Hardey believed the confused crew deserved to hear at least some of it. He could say nothing, however, without the captain’s permission.
When he feared he should wait no longer, he approached the captain’s cabin, trying to put as much deference as possible into the soft knock on the door. “Captain Talbot, may I have a word with you?”
There was no sound at first then a shuffle and a scrape of glass on wood. “Hardey?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Enter.”
The captain had been drinking, a fact attested to by an open bottle of rum on the table in front of him. But Talbot rarely got drunk, and he did not appear to be so now. Yawning, with his hair askew, the captain looked as if he had just awakened from a nap.
As he stepped closer, Hardey could see that the bottle still held most of its contents. The chart they had examined earlier lay near the bottle; angry-looking circles had been scratched around the Carolina coast.
“Excuse me, sir, the men await their orders.”
Edward just looked at him for a moment. “We did not get a letter of marque from the Governor of North Carolina.” He corked the rum and stood, his shoes scraping the floor as he walked over to replace the bottle in a small locked cabinet.
“Shall I plot a course for Charles Town?”
“No, this entire coast is corrupt. I wouldn’t trust the Governor of South Carolina any more than the thief who calls himself Governor of the northern Carolina. We’ll head for the Caribbean.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain had not dismissed him, so Hardey remained at attention, waiting.
“See to it, Mr. Hardey.”
“Yes, sir.” This time, Hardey turned to go, and had almost reached the door before he heard the captain speak again.
“He profits from pirates, Hardey.”
The first mate turned around and waited for Talbot to continue.
“He makes deals with them, takes a cut of the plunder, issues them pardons.”
“Sir?”
“Governor Eden. He sells them pardons, lets them careen in safety and drink and whore freely in his taverns.”
Hardey did not know what to say and so kept silent, as usual. His look, however, apparently prompted Edward to continue.
“He won’t issue a letter of marque because it would end his personal source of revenue. He’s scum, Hardey, he and his ‘secretary.’ Too slippery to hang.” Edward paused again, looked down and combed his fingers through the dark tangles of his hair. Then he looked up suddenly. “But I’ll find someone who will issue a letter of marque. And then we know where to come to find the pirates.” A note of vengeful triumph sounded in these last words.
“Jamaica, Captain?”
“See to it!”
“Sail ho!” The cry rang through the Osprey at first light. Captain Talbot called for his glass and examined the vessel for a long time. No one spoke above a whisper. At this distance, only the captain could tell if the
sail on the horizon was that of a merchant ship or a navy vessel—or something else. After a while, he turned and handed the telescope to his first mate.
Silence reigned for several more minutes while Hardey formulated his opinion. He handed the glass back to Edward. “Brig, English-built, less than one hundred tons, no colors raised.”
“Yes, and her mission?”
“Well, the obvious assumption is that she is a British merchant ship bound for North Carolina or the Chesapeake Bay with a cargo of goods from London.”
“Yes, that would be the typical assumption, wouldn’t it?” The captain smiled wickedly.
“You don’t think so, Captain?”
“That ship’s on a nor’westerly course. England is far to the north of us. Do you really think a ship bound for the Chesapeake Bay from England would come so far south before heading north again?”
“Well, sir, ships sometimes do make directly for the West Indies before continuing up to the bay.”
“I know that,” Talbot snapped. “This ship may have come from the West Indies, but I do not believe it is headed for Virginia or Maryland.” He paused. “I think this is one of Governor Eden’s new ‘associates’ coming to do business in North Carolina.”
Hardey raised an eyebrow. “A pirate, Captain?” He put out his hand in a mute request for another turn with the telescope.
“Yes, Mr. Hardey. She is carrying too much armament for a merchant vessel, and, as you can see even more clearly now, she is not a navy ship.”
Hardey could see through the glass that the sparse crew on deck contained no uniformed naval officer; moreover, the very paucity of crew itself indicated that the ship was not of the royal navy. But if a small crew was a sign a vessel was not a naval ship, it was also a sign it was not manned by pirates, since pirate vessels tended to be even more tightly packed than crowded naval ships. Both pirates and warships needed crew to man the guns, and pirates needed boarding parties. Merchant ships, by contrast, usually sailed with as small a crew as possible. So, unless the vast majority of the crew of the approaching vessel were belowdecks, the ship was almost certainly an ordinary merchant ship.
