“I have no doubt of it, I’m afraid,” Wharton sighed. “Spain is worried, truly, and is tightening its grip on Cuba. I have confirmed that now two Spanish frigates are in the Caribbean: Doncella Española and Tigre are their names. Ostensibly, they are here to protect Spanish slavers and Cuban harbors. It seems a Spanish ship blew up in Havana Harbor recently, if you can imagine!”
“I can imagine,” said Fallon, remembering that glorious explosion. “I can also imagine Doncella Española running into the chain across that very harbor and tearing her bottom out.” He let that sentence hang in the air, and Wharton smiled broadly and shook his head.
“Really, my friend, you never rest, do you?” he said. “Is there no end to your ideas for mischief?”
Fallon did not smile, for he was in no mood to accept compliments.
“Tell me, sir, is there any hope for Cuba?” he asked instead. “Was this so-called rebellion doomed to fail?” He was afraid he knew the answer.
“Very probably,” said Wharton, shaking his head sadly. “The governor has become quite active in prosecuting Cuban loyalists, and ferreting out rebel slaves from their palengues, or hiding holes. And there is no opposition leader stepping out of the shadows. Young David was perhaps on his way to becoming a folk hero but now he will be shot for his trouble. I have been in and out of Havana, spoken with diplomats and American agents and a wealthy loyalist or two, and can find no basis for optimism, sadly. Spain rules Cuba and will do so until a war separates them again. These two frigates she sent are a strong signal that Spain will not be denied its colony. Or its slaves.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a hail from Brooks, and then Aja knocked on the cabin door with the news that there was a great deal of dust to the east. After taking his leave from Wharton, Fallon called for his gig. He and Aja climbed down into it quickly and in very little time they were rowed to the beach, from where they could see a crowd was gathering alongside the road.
Here came the soldiers, on foot and dusty, led by a decorated colonel mounting a fine horse. The soldiers marched in two columns, inside of which trudged the prisoners. There were 22 in total, all rebel slaves except one white Cuban—Paloma Campos walked behind Young David, who was in the lead.
Fallon and Aja stood next to the road as the soldiers approached. Many of the bystanders cried, including Paloma’s sister, who was wailing with grief. Paloma smiled weakly at her, trying to be stoic, and then as she walked farther her eyes fell upon Fallon and Aja. Young David had seen them as well. Both Fallon and Aja nodded slightly in recognition, with Paloma and Young David nodding back with curiosity in their eyes. No doubt they’re wondering why we’re here, thought Fallon. He had the answer to that if he could have spoken to them: We’re here to set you free.
He just didn’t know how yet.
ALL AFTERNOON Fallon paced the deck deep in thought. He had watched as the prisoners were escorted along the beach and then up the steep stairs into the fort. Presumably, they were locked in their cells now, unaware of their fate. The rumor in Matanzas was that, indeed, they would be shot the next morning. Fallon stared at the fort through his telescope once more. It was certainly a formidable structure, with levels of battlements and, from what he could see, a courtyard surrounded by the prison walls. It seemed impregnable by anything but an all-out military assault.
As he watched, the work detail assigned to the continuing reconstruction on the walls and foundation began packing up their tools and leaving for the day. Their supervisor, no doubt the engineer for the project, waited patiently for the last workman to gather his things before stepping back and taking a last look at their day’s work.
Suddenly, an old, almost forgotten surge of excitement shot through Fallon’s body.
“Cully! Mr. Brooks!” called Fallon excitedly. “Come here quickly!”
Both men hurried to where Fallon was standing and followed his gaze to the fort. Brooks raised his telescope just as the engineer was making to leave.
“Mr. Brooks!” said Fallon, pointing at the engineer. “I want that man brought here. However you do it, even if you have to knock him on the head! But I want that man!”
Without a moment’s hesitation Brooks answered, “Aye, aye, sir!” without having a clue how he was going to follow Fallon’s orders. He motioned for Cully to come with him in the gig along with four crewmen and they were off within a minute. The crew rowed with deliberate speed to the quay by the fort, Brooks hailing the engineer before he could walk away. Cully stood in the bow of the gig and waved for the man to come down the quay, which he did, seeing no reason not to. There was no one else about, for the day was ending and there were no militia on the ramparts; presumably, the guardias stayed inside the fort as Paloma’s sister had said.
The engineer walked casually down the quay, his papers and plans under his arm, and was met by Brooks and Cully, who persuaded him, or rather Cully’s knife in his ribs persuaded him, to step down into the gig. The engineer was surprised into panic and sat with his papers trembling. In very little time he was tentatively climbing up the side of Rascal, Cully with his knife in his teeth climbing behind him for added terror, to be met by a beaming Fallon. The first part of a plan he didn’t have was falling into place.
The engineer was led below to Fallon’s cabin, where Wharton waited with two glasses of wine and a kindly smile. Fallon had just finished telling him what he needed and why, and the intelligence agent was going to work. Fallon left them to it and went back on deck.
The sun was going low and already the harbor was graying. Barclay was at the binnacle with Brooks as Fallon approached with an odd but remembered gleam in his eye. Here was the old Fallon back from the dead.
“Gentlemen,” Fallon began, Aja by his side as ever. “Tonight’s plan will unfold as we go. Best be prepared for anything.”
THIRTY-SIX
SLOWLY, RASCAL was warped by the ship’s boats to the fort’s quay, her bow pointing out to sea. The fort was quiet, and no light was visible from the deck of the ship. It was slack tide, with no breeze, and Rascal didn’t move at the dock.
Below decks, James Wharton and a quite-drunk engineer were laughing like the best of friends, the plans of the fort laid out before them on the desk held down by several empty wine bottles. The engineer was quite proud of his work on the fort, though he admitted the walls were still weak from the shock of the gunpowder years before. Under Wharton’s gentle prodding, he revealed the location of the prisoner’s cells, the head jailer’s office, and where the Spanish guardias were billeted. Most important, he described the exact location of the treasury, which Fallon had specifically asked Wharton to find out. That would get the crew excited for what lay ahead.
The only way into the fort was through a massive gate, which was guarded day and night by several armed guardias. Worse, because the execution tomorrow involved a local and popular woman, a 6-pound cannon had been positioned inside the courtyard, thirty feet away from the gate, with a tub of slow match next to it. Clearly, the guards were taking no chances on an armed uprising. All of this Wharton revealed to Fallon while the engineer snored softly on the stern cushions in the captain’s cabin.
All that was compounded, Fallon also learned from Wharton, who had learned it from the engineer, by the Spanish troops camped nearby. Tomorrow, after the execution, they would decamp for Havana. It wouldn’t do to have the soldiers intercede in any rescue plan.
Out of respect for Paloma’s grieving sister, Fallon felt he should disclose to her his intention to attempt a rescue, although just how was not completely clear to him. The problem was that, if he was successful, Paloma would have to leave Cuba to be safe from the soldiers’ pursuit. That meant the two sisters might well never see each other again. Well, first things first, he decided. Paloma certainly wasn’t free yet. Fallon called for Aja to accompany him to the café, and they left in the gig.
The café was partially full of local patrons, all talking in subdued voices, looking furtively at the end of the bar where a grou
p of three Spanish army officers huddled with their drinks. Fallon looked for Paloma’s sister and saw her in the far corner talking to several women, all of whom were crying and wringing their hands.
All had short hair, he noticed, unafraid to show their loyalty to Cuba, even with Spanish soldiers about. No doubt the local authorities were used to it.
Not wanting to intrude, Fallon and Aja waited until Paloma’s sister looked up and motioned them over. Her face was red and swollen and her voice cracked with gasps of anguish as she tried to speak.
“Oh, Señor, you must help us!” she whispered urgently. “My dear sister is to be shot tomorrow, and I cannot even see her to tell her I love her and to be brave! Oh, Señor! What will I do?”
Fallon looked at the women and saw they were all looking at him expectantly.
“Where are the soldiers camped, Señora?” he asked, stalling for time to think.
“They are to the south on the edge of town in a grove of trees,” one of the women whispered. “The officers left a sergeant in charge while they came into town to drink to their success in capturing Paloma and the runaway slaves, los cimarrones.”
“How do you know this?” Fallon asked. It really was the café where all was known.
“There are the Spanish officers,” Paloma’s sister fairly spat out, nodding to the three officers at the end of the bar. “Colonel Munoz is the one in charge, the big man with the medals.”
Aja studied the officers carefully, watched them laugh and drink and talk in loud voices, though he couldn’t hear what they said. Fallon was quiet, his mind trying to sort through the obstacles to success in getting the rebels and Paloma out of prison. Then Aja tugged on Fallon’s sleeve.
“Captain, sir,” he said quietly. “There is something I learned as a boy: Without a leader, black ants are confused. I know this to be true, for I have seen it many times.”
Aja nodded in the direction of the Spanish officers, and Fallon smiled, Aja once again surprising him with his wisdom. It was time for action.
“Aja, back to the ship quickly, and tell Colquist I want something strong enough to put three men to sleep for a week! Hurry now!” Aja smiled a broad smile, aware that events were going to move fast and that he was playing some part in them.
Fallon turned his attention back to the short-haired women.
“Ladies, we are going to attempt to rescue Paloma and the cimarrones tonight,” he whispered. He had their attention now, their eyes drying, their mouths coming open at this turn of events. “But we need your help.”
“Anything, Señor!” said Paloma’s sister, and all the women nodded vigorously. “Ask us to do anything!”
COLONEL MUNOZ and his junior officers were quite happy with themselves. Their unit had been efficient and relentless, unlike many units in the Spanish army, and upon their return to Havana they were hoping for medals, or promotions, or both. Capturing the rebel Young David had put paid to a dangerous movement in Cuba, and they knew it. And they knew the Spanish authorities knew it.
The officers were not popular in the café, of course. They had one end of the bar to themselves, in fact. The barkeep had served them perfunctorily, without welcome or comment, but Munoz expected no less because the beautiful woman he’d captured with Young David was from Matanzas. Well, he thought, she brought it on herself.
His junior officers were becoming quite drunk, and Munoz was feeling the effects of the drinks himself. He was on the verge of calling it a night when the barkeep returned to their end of the bar with a decidedly friendlier manner. She was actually smiling! Perhaps she’d finally noticed him!
Well, he thought, one more round wouldn’t hurt.
BACK ABOARD RASCAL, Fallon paced the deck deep in apprehension. That damn cannon wouldn’t give them a chance coming through the gate, even if they could knock it down. It would be a slaughter, not a rescue.
He plunged back below decks to his cabin to study the layout of the fort again. Wharton had left the cabin and the engineer was still fast asleep on the stern cushions as Fallon lit several candles and moved them close to illuminate the plans of the fort on his desk. It appeared the guardias were billeted to the back of the courtyard from the gate, putting them on the right side of the fort from where Rascal was tied. The prisoner cells, then, were directly opposite Rascal on the far side of the square.
So many times in Fallon’s experience, the counterintuitive thought was the bolder course; the less predictable the better. So it was now. The sane approach would be to attempt to breach the gate in some way and kill the guards. But that was suicidal. That left the only alternative: Go through the walls. They were still weak from the explosions years before; maybe they were just weak enough.
Fallon called Barclay, Brooks, and Wharton together to review the plan that was forming even as he described it. He would do what he could to rescue as many as he could, but he had to protect the ship above all else.
“Mr. Barclay,” Fallon said, “when will the tide ebb?”
“It will begin the ebb at five bells in the middle watch, sir.” So, about 2:30 AM Rascal would begin to feel the gentle tug of the tide pulling her against her lines toward the harbor entrance.
“Very good,” said Fallon. “Then at six bells we will launch an all-out assault on the fort. I am allowing us fifteen minutes at the most before the soldiers get organized and reach the fort to counterattack. By then I want to be on our way to sea.”
No doubt it would take longer for the sergeant in charge to mobilize his troops, but it might also take even longer than that to get into the fort and extricate the prisoners, not to mention the treasury. Fallon wanted time on his side.
“In the meantime, Mr. Brooks,” Fallon said, “please have this engineer carried to shore and laid upon the beach. I believe he has served his purpose aboard this ship. Now, as to the plan …”
THE SPANISH OFFICERS moved to a table to finish their drinks, feeling too tired or drunk to stand at the bar. The café became noticeably quieter, the few locals having left for the evening and the only remaining patrons the husbands of the short-haired women. They stood at the bar nursing their drinks and keeping a wary eye on the officers.
Slowly, their words slurring, the officers began going to sleep at the table. First, the junior officers put their heads down and, finally, Colonel Munoz himself was overcome by tiredness. At the last, he tried to wake his junior officers but found he hadn’t the energy to even shake them. Sleep seemed so welcoming, calling to him to relax just for a moment, for tomorrow would come soon enough.
THE RASCALS were to get charcoal from the cook’s stove and rub their faces black, then strip to their waists and rub everything black that was white. Fallon had detailed thirty men for the assault and divided them up for specific duties once inside the fort.
Brooks would stay with the ship, over his objections, of course. He was to have hands ready to slip the lines and set the sails as soon as the crew was out of the fort and back aboard, hopefully with the prisoners and the town’s treasury.
Just before four bells, Fallon called Brooks and Cully together—so black was Cully’s face that his white hair seemed radiant in contrast.
“Cully, from the engineer’s plans it looks like most of the weakness in the walls is on this side of the fort, right in front of us. That’s where the explosives did their worst in ’62. I want you to put a broadside into an imaginary circle on the wall six feet in diameter. Double shot the guns. We are at point blank range, and unless I am very much mistaken, we could lead a parade through that hole!”
“Mr. Brooks,” Fallon continued. “Have the men armed with cutlasses and pistols and, once Cully has done his work, I will lead the crew through the wall. Each man knows his duty once inside. Are you clear, Cully?”
“Very clear, Nico!” responded Cully, showing his white teeth through his smile.
Aja stood nearby waiting for his orders, for he would be with the attack as well. Fallon had a special assignment for him.
“Aja, you are to get the jailer’s keys as soon as he is down, hopefully by my hand. Get his keys and run like the wind across the courtyard to each cell, as many as you can, anyway, and free the prisoners. Be sure to find Paloma! Get everyone to stay together until my command, then get them quickly back to the ship. Understood?”
“Yes, Captain, sir!” said Aja with enthusiasm, relishing such an important role in the assault.
And, finally, a word with James Wharton. The agent had been hovering nearby, not anxious to go ashore with the crew but certainly wanting to be part of the attack.
“Mr. Wharton, would you be so good as to carefully count each man who comes back? We are sending thirty into the fort, and I want thirty back on board. No one is to be left behind.”
“I will, Captain. You will have your men accounted for.”
Now Fallon was at last satisfied that everything was planned that could be planned. He left to blacken his own face and body, for it was four bells in the middle watch, and there was not a moment to lose.
THIRTY-SEVEN
THE VILLAGE of Matanzas was asleep; the torches outside the cafés had all gone out and the clouds hid the moon. On board Rascal, those going ashore massed behind the gun crews and waited patiently for the attack on the fort to begin. For incentive, every man had been told about the Matanzas treasury just inside the walls.
Fallon stood behind Cully, his face and body black from charcoal, his sword in his hand. The ship moved slightly beneath his feet, tugging at her lines like a Thoroughbred ready to race, drawn by the ebb toward the sea. Slow match burned in a tub by each of the eight larboard guns, which were primed and double-shotted as Fallon had ordered. Cully had personally sighted each one with his good eye.
Fallon looked around at the blackened faces, the white eyes and teeth, and gripped the handle of his sword tightly.
“Fire!” he yelled, and Rascal’s broadside roared out across the quay and into the side wall of the fort with a tremendous explosion that deafened the ears and temporarily blinded the crew. And the wall! Already weak, the wall seemed to shatter at the impact of sixteen cannon balls from short range in a concentrated spot. Stone blew back into the fort and the sill collapsed, leaving a hole the size of coach and four!
The Black Ring Page 17
