Immediately, Rascals poured through the opening and into the courtyard, pistols at the ready. The stunned guardias at the front gate turned to meet a spray of bullets that killed them instantly. Cully and his crew ran for the cannon, attacking the gunners who stood to their duty there. None was armed beyond swords—the cannon was their gun—and they went down quickly.
But here came the rest of the guards, even as the Rascals screamed and charged. The militia found it hard to aim at the blackened figures, and the screaming disoriented them. The Rascals dashed into the confusion, swinging their cutlasses like deadly scythes at anyone they didn’t know.
Aja and Fallon moved quickly to the head jailer’s room, and the moment the man opened the door Fallon brought his sword down on his arm, nearly severing it. The jailer made to scream but Aja had already raised his pistol and brought it down on the man’s head, knocking him out. In a flash Aja began searching for the cell keys while Fallon stood guard. All the drawers of the desk were pulled out and the contents dumped on the bed next to the nightstand candle. Nothing. Aja held up the candle and quickly walked around the room, moving the light up and down, and finally the keys revealed themselves on a hook by the door. Grabbing them, Aja ran from the room and across the courtyard.
The fighting was intense outside the guardias’ cells, but the surprise and ferocity of the attack had given the Rascals the upper hand. No quarter was given on either side, however, and the dust of the courtyard absorbed the blood of the wounded and dying. Fallon jumped into the fighting and rallied the crew against the guardias, who were half naked and losing ground, though they fought valiantly enough.
“Clear the courtyard!” Cully yelled, and his gun crew turned the courtyard cannon around to face the far wall and ran the gun toward the treasury. He brought the muzzle of the 6-pounder very close to the massive lock on the treasury door and ordered his men to stand back for fear of exploding splinters.
“Fire!” yelled Cully, and the cannon hurled its 6-pound ball at the lock. The guardias who were still fighting were momentarily stunned and distracted by the explosion, and the Rascals swung their cutlasses in murderous arcs, decapitating some and horribly wounding the rest.
Now it was a mad dash to the treasury room, where the shattered door stood open and the town of Matanzas’ coffers were revealed. Strongboxes were stacked against the side walls halfway to the ceiling, and the Rascals fell on them quickly. Then something like a reception line was formed to get the heavy boxes out and to the ship. Time was running out, and at any moment the soldiers or even other militia would be upon them.
Aja opened each cell door and called for the prisoner to step out and get down. When Young David emerged, he grasped Aja’s shoulders and smiled at him, Aja smiling back in the darkness. At the last of the cells, Paloma Campos stepped out cautiously. She had watched the fighting in fascination—all the prisoners had—but it was not until Aja opened her cell door that she knew who was doing the fighting. She was led to the group of prisoners, all the rebels, including Young David, and told to kneel down. It wouldn’t do for a stray bullet to kill one of them after so much effort and bloodshed had been expended.
But the fighting was almost over. At a yell from Fallon, Aja moved the prisoners quickly across the courtyard just behind the last of the crew helping the wounded and carrying the strongboxes. In a moment, everyone was through the hole in the wall and running down the quay toward Rascal.
All except Young David.
“I am not going, my brother,” he said to Aja, pulling him aside.
“What?” Aja exclaimed. “You can’t stay here! They will catch you and kill you!” Aja was beside himself, for surely all this hadn’t been for nothing!
“Yes, probably,” said Young David calmly. “But my life, however humble, is here. My purpose is here. Go, my little brother. You will always have my thanks for saving me yet again.”
With that, Young David turned and ran in the direction of the beach, past a crowd that was already forming but warily staying back. Aja stared after him, anguish in his chest, trying to comprehend his decision but there was no time to think it out. In the distance he could see the torches of the soldiers, who were moving rapidly toward the fort.
“Aja!” ordered Fallon in exasperation. “Hurry!”
Rascal had slipped her bow line and was about to slip her stern line when Aja leapt aboard. When he rose to face a clearly agitated captain, there were tears in his eyes, and Fallon wisely put his arm around his shoulders instead of berating him for holding up the ship.
“Mr. Wharton,” Fallon called. “All aboard?”
“All aboard, sir! Mostly in one piece!” answered Wharton.
Brooks ordered the fore-staysail sheeted home, and Barclay edged Rascal away from the quay and out of the harbor on the ebb tide and a small land breeze. Fallon could see the soldiers were just arriving at the fort to sort through the situation, but he hoped that by the time they figured it out, Rascal would be well out of musket range. And, besides, the early morning was still very dark.
There was much to do. Colquist was tending to the wounded, of which there were twelve with serious lacerations or other wounds. Thankfully, none of the Rascals had been killed. Surprise had been on their side, for a guard half asleep bursting from his quarters with his trousers around his ankles will always be a poor shot. Paloma Campos had been invited to rest below in Fallon’s cabin but she elected to stay on deck, standing at the taffrail, watching her home and family recede into the blackness. Aja stood next to her, two conspirators in freeing Young David, bonded together forever.
Fallon gathered the prisoners and offered them the choice of joining the ship or being put ashore in Antigua as free men. He spoke English and Spanish and French to them, and then Aja spoke his own native language to them in hopes they could understand what was being offered. Surprisingly, they all opted to join the ship, though no one knew exactly what that meant. The prospect of freedom was wonderful, but freedom in a strange place with nowhere to work and earn a living, when all they’d ever known was servitude, was confusing and overwhelming. What they did understand was that they were no longer slaves and no longer prisoners, and it was because of these wild men painted black. So, gratitude played a part in their decision to stay aboard. Brooks would begin forming them into something like sailors tomorrow.
The strongboxes were arrayed on the deck to be opened in daylight in front of all hands. Who knew what was inside? But as heavy as they were, it was good odds that the men would be very happy. It had certainly been an easier way to make money than facing broadsides.
Fallon approached Paloma quietly, and Aja thought it best to move away. Fallon could well imagine she would wonder where they were bound, and her options had to be discussed.
“Paloma,” he began, “I trust you were not harmed in the fighting?”
She turned to face him and almost gasped at his black face and skin, now streaked with sweat and grime.
“No, I am fine. I am just trying to absorb what’s happened, Captain Fallon. Aja said I was due to be shot in a very few hours, and now I am aboard your ship! I am very, very grateful to you and your men, sir. I can honestly say that when Aja opened my cell door it was the biggest shock of my life!”
“I can well imagine, Señora,” replied Fallon. “You should know that your sister and several of her friends made it possible for us to rescue you. They drugged the Spanish army officers and put them to sleep. I’m hopeful the women can disappear for a while into the hills until the soldiers leave, or there will be repercussions. But once the officers were asleep, all we had to do was get into the fort and get you out.”
“I see,” said Paloma, knowing there was more to it than just getting into the fort and rescuing a few prisoners. “I thought I saw my sister in the crowd on the beach as we left. Of course, it was very dark. But she will know I am safe, and that’s what matters. But, Captain, why? Why did you rescue all of us? I can’t imagine the reason to risk your life like that
!”
“We have hurt Spain by blowing up her fort and taking her money,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And we have done it under the military’s nose.” He paused. “And I have kept my word to a friend.”
“May I ask who was the friend?” she said, holding her breath for the answer.
“I believe you know, Paloma. And we should talk about whether you want to go to Antigua.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
THREE DAYS out of Bermuda, Somers was still not sure about Stuyvesant or the wisdom of having hired him as captain of Petite Bouton. He was a rough sort and given to drink, but it hadn’t seemed to interfere with running the ship. There were a few men from Petite’s prize crew, and the rest were from Drummond or off other packets. At Somers’s insistence, Stuyvesant practiced them at the guns for the first few days.
Petite Bouton was a fine sailor on her clean bottom. The sails were old and patched, but they still drew well and the miles seemed to roll by day and night. Somers noticed the men seemed happy enough; well, he was paying them very well. But each day Stuyvesant came on deck later, and each evening turned in earlier. And there was something disquieting in the way he looked at Elinore. She first reported it to Somers when they were coming aboard. It wasn’t a leer, exactly, but its close cousin. Somers took to carrying a small pistol in his belt, hidden from view.
The weather was cloudy and portentous all week, but perhaps it had all been a bluff, for nothing hazardous or troubling had beset them. The ship was steady on a beam reach, and would be all the way to Antigua. Somers wanted speed, and he was getting it from the French-built sloop. Stuyvesant knew how to sail fast, give him that.
Ahead was the unknown, but Somers and Elinore were going to help their friend Beauty through whatever had befallen her, and the prospect of seeing Fallon again brought Elinore joy. The fresh salt air had improved her health wonderfully, and she reveled in the wind and spray, not caring if she got soaked to the skin.
The ship was still sailing under patchy clouds when the sun finally broke out and bathed the world in warm, yellow light. Somers dozed in his chair at the stern and Elinore came on deck to a blue sea of whitecaps and a glorious breeze. Stuyvesant was at the binnacle, sipping from his flask as he had been all day, and he watched Elinore on the windward rail embracing the weather. Her hair was wild in the wind, blowing around her face, unmanageable and free. Spray rose up from the bow, creating rainbows in the air, and flying fish seemed to race over the tops of the waves to keep pace with the ship.
Finally, Elinore was soaked through and, as the sun had gone behind a white cloud again and the air had turned cooler, she went below to change. Stuyvesant looked over his shoulder at Somers, asleep in his chair, his head on his chest. Taking another nip from his flask, then another, he made for the companionway and went below.
Elinore had just slipped off her wet dress in her small cabin when Stuyvesant opened the door and stepped inside.
“Get out!” she ordered. “Get out this instant or I’ll scream!”
He pulled a knife from his trousers and waved it at her face.
“You wouldn’t want to do that, Missy,” he sneered. “Your captain friend wouldn’t like you so much without a nose!” And he moved to her quickly, holding the knife to her startled eyes with one hand, tearing at her undergarments with the other. Elinore backed away, screaming, and kicked at him, but he ripped her bodice and pushed her down on her small cot. His weight was smothering, and he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers with his free hand. Elinore made to scream again but he pushed the knife blade’s tip against her throat.
“Shut up, you bitch!” he hissed. “You’re going to like this!”
Suddenly there was the cold steel click of a pistol’s hammer being cocked.
“Mr. Stuyvesant,” said Somers, the rage hissing from his lips even as he tried to remain completely under control. “Rise up slowly and drop your knife. Don’t hesitate. Do it now.”
Stuyvesant took a moment to decide, for his alcohol-riddled mind was having trouble sorting through options. Finally, he pushed himself up off Elinore, dropped his knife to the floor, and started to turn toward Somers. His penis was still hanging out of his trousers, and he made to put it back in.
“Don’t, Stuyvesant,” said Somers in barely contained fury as he moved to one side of the cabin. “Keep your hands up. Walk to the door and up the companionway steps, if you please.”
Elinore was trembling in fear and anger, but as Stuyvesant turned to walk past her father she reached for a coat to cover herself and followed Somers up the steps. Stuyvesant stumbled and lurched a little at the top of the companionway from the roll of the ship, then stepped into the sunshine with Somers behind him holding the small pistol.
“Walk to the leeward railing,” Somers ordered. And Stuyvesant did as he was told, though he was looking furtively side to side at the crew, hoping for intervention. But the crew saw the situation clearly; saw Stuyvesant’s member hanging out the front of his trousers; saw Elinore’s terrified face; saw Somers at a boil. No one moved.
At the railing, Somers ordered Stuyvesant to turn around and, as he did so, Somers raised the short barrel of the pistol to point at his face. Stuyvesant’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack. Elinore walked up to Somers’s side, her eyes locked on Stuyvesant.
“Do you know Heraclitus, sir?” asked Somers, trying to keep his voice calm and steady, but appearing interested in the answer.
Stuyvesant looked at Somers with wild, bloodshot eyes, his greasy hair blowing about his face.
“Can’t say that we ever met, your honor,” he said, speaking out of both sides of his sneer.
“Heraclitus believed a man’s character was his fate,” said Somers, his voice low and dark. “Which means you’re fucked.”
Stuyvesant’s eyes blinked and focused on the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. He was consequently slow to see Elinore’s roundhouse swing on the way, her arm arcing from her toes, her fist bunched and carrying rage and fury and rough justice when it met his soft, fleshy face. Stuyvesant staggered momentarily, his head snapping back, throwing his weight outboard just as the ship fell off a wave. His arms flailed in the air for an imaginary hold but it was too late.
He was over and gone, lost in the tossing seas, and Somers had no intention of turning back.
THIRTY-NINE
IF THERE WAS a more fortunate ship afloat than Rascal, Fallon could not imagine it. When the Matanzas treasure had been opened for all to see, it was a veritable fortune. Brooks had taken charge of counting it out, slowly and carefully, and then twice to be sure. Every man would have more gold and silver than he’d ever seen at one time, or imagined seeing at one time. Perhaps this accounted for the crisp sail handling and smooth tacks as the schooner made her way against the building seas and wind down the coast of Cuba. Even the dousing spray could not dampen the crew’s spirits.
Fallon’s spirits were not immune to success, either. His lowness was gone, replaced by the old optimism with which he usually greeted each morning. The sky was infinitely blue, the sun warming. Indeed, he thought, today was a day when anything could happen.
When the treasure had been securely stored in the holds at last, Rascal was well past the tip of Cuba with Anvil Hill far astern, a table-topped mountain with scarped sides rising more than two thousand feet into the air. Barclay called for a long larboard tack to take them below Hispaniola into the Caribbean Sea.
“Deck there!” came the call from the lookout. “Sail to the northeast!”
Aja appeared with Fallon’s telescope, but he could see nothing from the deck. The sail could be anything, of course. But it could also be something.
“Deck there!” the lookout yelled. “It’s a ship-of-the-line, sir! Turning north for Saint-Domingue. I see a French tricolor!”
Now that was something, thought Fallon. Why would a French ship be calling at Port-au-Prince? Particularly a ship-of-the-line? An emissary? A signal from France, flexing her muscle? Of cours
e, he thought of Louverture, and the secret letter portending a French invasion, and the first cloud of the day came over his face. It was troubling; no, it was more than troubling. And Davies would want to know about it. Barclay looked at him as if asking whether to change course, but Fallon shook his head, no. He would learn nothing by chasing a French ship into Port-au-Prince; better to return to English Harbor with the news.
It was then that Paloma Campos came on deck looking wonderfully refreshed and radiant. No wonder Davies was smitten, thought Fallon. She was dressed in ship’s slops, which had never looked that good on anyone else, and her hair was blowing about her tanned face. She waved to Aja on the larboard railing and then approached Fallon with a smile on her face.
“You are looking very well, Paloma,” he said, returning her smile. “We have left Cuba astern and are making a long board to Antigua and English Harbor, where, if I am not mistaken, a certain admiral is even now pacing the deck of his flagship.”
“I hope you are right, Captain,” she said, blushing through her tan. “Because you have gone to a very lot of trouble if he isn’t!”
THE EASTERLY WIND had increased dramatically and was gusting to forty knots. The waves opened like mouths, their upper lips curled with menace, the white froth trailing like spit behind them. Petite Bouton struggled to hold the course that was Somers’s best guess for Antigua. Sails had been reefed, of course, and the little sloop had tacked against the strong wind bravely. Somers knew little about running a ship, though he owned many of them, but he knew they were making much too much leeway. The navigational problem was that cloudy skies had precluded noon sights, which one of the crew knew how to do, or even steering by the stars, for that matter. So, their exact position was a mystery, and becoming more so. Though they had plenty of sea room, Somers grew concerned, having lost confidence in his dead reckoning. Well, perhaps tonight or tomorrow would give them something to steer by.
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