Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  Now all that is necessary is to avoid the discovery of my secret.

  Most of the crewmen are pleasant enough, although I see one or two watching, eyeing me speculatively. Whenever possible, I avoid them. I am fairly certain that my gender is concealed. Nonetheless, something in their gaze unsettles me and I give them a wide berth when I can.

  Then, when I talk with some of the other ship’s boys, I learn, shockingly, why it is not necessarily a sensible idea for a young lad to attract the attention of certain of the older men. Especially if the ship has been at sea for an extended period.

  Fortunately, my duties as the captain’s servant enable me easily to find some cause for absenting myself at need. I quickly assemble a list of such reasons: cleaning the captain’s boots, preparing his uniform, serving his meal when he wishes to eat privately…

  I tap on the door. “Captain, I have your tea.”

  “Come in, Mr Parsons.” He nods me to the side. “Put the tray over there.”

  He is back at his table again, working on his charts, busy with measure, compass and dividers. Keen to watch what he does, I seek for some excuse to dally. “Shall I pour for you, sir?”

  He glances across. “Thank you, yes.”

  I pour tea from a pot into porcelain that my mother would not have been ashamed to serve from. Cup and saucer clink as I place them beside him.

  The captain’s hands fascinate me; the nails, clean and white. And those long fingers, nimble and dexterous as he works. After a moment he looks up, sees me watching him. “Is there something amiss, Mr Parsons?”

  Flushing, I remember myself. “My apologies, captain. I was interested in what you’re doing. It appears you are applying the principles of geometry.”

  He blinks, straightening up. “And what do you know of the principles of geometry?”

  “Oh… Um… I read a book about it.”

  His head tilts. “What book?”

  “Er, Euclid’s ‘The Elements’, sir.”

  He stares at me. “Euclid? Is that so?” He takes a couple of breaths, then gestures over the table. “Come, show me what you know, Mr Parsons.” He taps a fingernail on the map. “Do you recognise this?”

  “It looks like a map of the coast of Africa, sir…”

  So far away…

  Will I get to see it?

  “… Is that where we’re going?”

  “Yes…” The captain’s smile is pleasant; his teeth very white. And fine lines crinkle from the corners of his eyes. He seems taken by my interest. “…and further on, towards India and beyond.”

  Much emboldened, I continue. “What will we do when we get there? Is this a trading voyage?”

  “Trading? Yes, you could say that…” His expression alters. The smile vanishes from his eyes. It seems to remain at his mouth, or perhaps he is simply baring his teeth. “And hunting, too.”

  “Hunting? What are we hunting, sir? This is not a whaling ship, surely?”

  The smile reappears. He offers up the dividers. “And do you know what I was doing with these?”

  “No, sir.” My face heats. “Begging your pardon, sir. That’s why I was watching you.”

  “They are used for, among other things, measuring distance to scale. Here, I shall demonstrate.”

  The weather is fair. Mr Bowers, the ship’s cook calls me. “You can take the captain his tea, lad. You’ll find him up on the focsle at this hour.”

  I am only too happy to run the errand and to have the opportunity to see my captain. And maybe to talk with him. Perhaps he will say a few words to me.

  The captain is indeed up on the focsle, watching the crew at work and apparently enjoying the air. He smiles as he takes his cup from the tray. “I believe life at sea suits you, Mr Parsons.”

  I do not suppress my grin. “I believe you are correct, sir.”

  “You are enjoying your work and the companionship of the older men?”

  “Oh yes, sir.” I begin to speak and then realise I would be out of place and clamp my mouth closed.

  But the captain regards me over the top of his teacup. “You were about to say something, Mr Parsons?”

  “Your pardon, captain. I was, but I realised it would be impertinent of me.”

  He sips his tea then sets the cup on its saucer. “Very well. Speak your impertinent words. I will be lenient in my interpretation of them.”

  “I was wondering, sir, do you enjoy being captain?”

  His head inclines, his eyes creasing. “Yes, Mr Parsons. I do. Look all around you.” He offers out a hand to one side, then the other. “From one horizon to another, we are the only human thing to be seen; this ship and the men on it. And I am captain, with complete authority over all that happens here.”

  He fixes his dark-eyed gaze on me. “The Albatross may be ‘independent’, but we operate on much the same basis as one of his majesty’s ships. They have serviceable regulations that serve them well. I am master here.”

  Chapter 6

  Wrong Ship

  Weeks of sailing and England, with its cool damp climate, has been left far behind. The sun blazes down. Even through the broad-brimmed straw hat I wear, the heat bakes my scalp. But despite the high temperatures, the wind is brisk and cool, filling the sails and washing my face in clean air. It makes pleasanter work of scrubbing the deck.

  Captain Broughton sits, as his habit in fine weather, on the focsle deck, working with a chart. He calls down. “Mr Parsons, come here if you please.”

  Dropping my scrubbing brush in its bucket, I hasten for’ard and up. “Sir?”

  “Do you know what this is?” He holds a curious-looking instrument in brass, vaguely triangular.

  “I believe it is a sextant, sir.”

  “Are you familiar with the instrument?”

  “No, sir. Except that I have seen you using it.”

  “Quite right. Its function is to measure the angular distance between two visible objects; in our case, to measure celestial objects relative to the horizon. You will learn its correct use…”

  My heart pounds…

  He will teach me?

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  To one side, Mr Bridges, the first mate, gives me a curious look.

  The captain offers the device to me and I take it carefully. Heavier than it looks, it is clearly a crafted and costly instrument. He indicates with a long forefinger. “Now here, you see the scale…”

  He will teach me…

  From high up in the rigging, a call: “Sail!”

  All heads swing, eyes raising then following the pointing arm to the East. The captain snaps open a glass, raising it to his eye.

  I strain to the horizon, shading my vision. “I don’t see anything.”

  The captain stares long. As I finally spot it, a patch of white over dark, apparently rising from beyond the edge of the world, he mutters, “It could be them.” Then he shouts out to the helmsman. “Mr Crantree, change course to intercept.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The wind is carrying us, and we draw rapidly closer to the vessel. The captain remains intent with his glass. No longer a distant speck, even to my naked eye, details resolve: three masts, billowing sails.

  Can I speak?

  “Why are we chasing that ship, captain?

  He regards me sidelong. “As I told you, Mr Parsons, we are hunting.”

  I stare out to the far horizon at the distant sails. “What are we hunting? Or who? And why? I thought we were just a trading ship but…”

  He snorts a laugh. “Did you now? And what do you imagine all those guns on the lower deck are for?”

  I hang my head. “I suppose I did not really think about it, captain.”

  “Well, you should think about it. They are for firing at other ships. Perhaps sinking them.”

  “Sinking them?” The obvious hits me. “We… we are not pirates, are we?”

  He rocks his hand back and forth. “That depends what you mean by pirate. Some would say, yes, we are
pirates. I prefer to say that we are reclaiming what is rightful.”

  “Your pardon, sir. I don’t understand.”

  He raises his glass again, pauses, then lowers it once more, clicking his tongue. “Damnation! It’s only the Limitless.” He turns back to me. “Mr Parsons, for now, I will say only that we are not hunting that ship. As to the rest, the story will have to wait, as will your lesson.”

  He takes the sextant from me, placing it into a satin-lined box. “You must excuse me. I have work to do.”

  As he leaves the deck, he calls to the first mate. “Mr Cromwell, when they are in range, send a signal inviting Captain Lucas to dine with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He leaves us, his booted feet clattering down the stairway.

  I turn to our bosun, Mr Bridges. “The captain seemed disappointed.”

  He scratches at grizzled hair. “Yes, lad. He was hoping for more. But that ship’s not our enemy.”

  “Enemy? The captain said we're hunting. Who are we hunting?”

  He eyes me sidelong. “We are hunting any ship belonging to Alexander Hadsall.”

  “And who is he?”

  Mr Bridges looks one way and the other then, lowering his voice, “When the captain was a young man, just starting out, he set up a trading venture. Bought a ship. Hired a crew. I was one of them, just a ship’s boy myself then. It cost him everything he had to finance it. He used his family’s money, and he borrowed more. But he’s a clever man, our captain. He was successful. Very successful. He found a source, persuaded them to trade. His investors would have made a fine return…”

  “Would have?”

  He sucks air between his teeth, shaking his head. “We were returning home with our cargo and the sweet smell of success, when we were attacked by Hadsall with his ships, the Iron Hand and the Black Falcon. He and his pirates boarded us, plundered everything of value we carried, then put a hole in our ship and left us to sink. We barely managed to patch up well enough to make it back to port. We only just escaped with our lives.”

  “What were you carrying? Gold?”

  His head swings. “Oh, no. Something much more valuable than gold. Spices. Nutmeg and mace. Think of it, Sam…” He holds out a palm as though clutching a handful of nuts. “… Something so valuable, so precious, that a common thief who stole a handful could carry a life’s fortune in his pocket. That was our cargo. That’s what Alexander Hadsall stole. And in doing it, he all but ruined our captain.”

  Mr Bridges blows air. “And it wasn’t just the money. It cost him his fiancée too…”

  “It did?”

  “It did. With his fortune up and gone, she was up and gone too. The news came out and she broke off the engagement…” He snaps his fingers… “…just like that… Then she went off to marry some fat earl who would dress her in the silks and jewels that were so important to her.”

  Inside me something growls on behalf of my captain…

  But something else smiles… “She sounds... unappealing. Did you know her?”

  He sniffs and scratches his nose. “Can’t say I knew her exactly. I met her a few times at the table. She was pretty enough, but…” He lowers his voice further…” I always felt our captain had chosen below his level. She was just a society flitterby who was interested in nought more than gossip and the latest fashions.” He taps the side of his nose. “And she was a wee bit too interested in the money. Captain Broughton may not agree, but if you ask me, he’s well rid of her.”

  “You say he was ruined… I look around at the deck of the Albatross. “… but he has this ship now…”

  Mr Bridges shakes his head. “S’not his ship, lad. She’s owned by another who suffered from Hadsall’s piracy, one who had more resources than our captain. He was one of the investors in the original venture and he understood that what happened wasn’t the captain’s fault. So, he funded the Albatross and now we hunt down Hadsall wherever we find him. The man is rich and has a whole fleet at his call, but we take our revenge and claim back the debt whenever we’re able.”

  He jabs a finger to my chest. “And we’ll do that with every stinking vessel Hadsall owns. But what we’d really like, every one of us…” He gestures out over the crew… “…is to find those first two ships.”

  “The Iron Hand and the Black Falcon?”

  “That’s right. We want to find ‘em and sink ‘em.”

  I turn, my eye following the horizon from one side to the other and right around. “How do you know where to look?” I gesture around at seemingly endless water. “I mean, it is the ocean…”

  He aims a finger at the three-master, now growing larger. “Traders don’t sail at random, Sam. They follow specific routes and catch favourable winds. Hadsall lies in wait close by those routes, waiting to prey on other innocent traders.”

  “If we find them and sink the ship, what happens to the crew?”

  “They’ll be taken aboard as prisoners and deposited at the nearest port where they can stand trial.”

  Our men are hailing their men, shouting across to the Limitless as she draws closer.

  “So, what happens now?”

  “Our captain knows their captain. They're old friends. I daresay we’ll pull alongside and exchange gossip between the crews. Who knows? They might have news of where we can find Hadsall.” He flicks a glance at where Mr Cromwell is watching us, his brow wrinkling. “That’s enough, Sam. Now… get about your duties.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I return to my scrubbing, cleaning the deck ready for visitors. But despite all I just heard, one thought lingers.

  He lost his fiancée…

  The captain’s not married…

  Chapter 7

  Revelation

  Captain Broughton leans forward in his seat, a fingertip tapping on the chart. His long hair drapes forward and I suppress the urge to brush it back behind his ears.

  Running my fingers through it…

  Touching you…

  I stand over the table from him, paying close attention as he positions the dividers over the parchment, “Now, see here, Mr Parsons, we set the correct distance on the dividers according to the scale of the map, then place the point of the instrument, like so…”

  “Yes, captain…” I lean forward, keen to see clearly what he is showing me.

  His eyes fall again. “So, using the instrument correctly set, if I adjust it like so…” He twirls the device, pivoting it on the set point… “… we have a marked-out area corresponding to all the possible points at that distance…” His eyes shift up to mine then flick down once more.

  At first, I think he is looking at the chart, then belatedly, I realise his focus is ahead. In my forward-leaning position, my shirt has fallen open at the neck and the captain has a square-on view of my… chest.

  Flushing, I stand up, tugging the shirt straight. But it is far too late. The captain has seen my restraining breast-bands and it is perfectly clear to him that I am…

  “A girl…” he says.

  He sits back into his seat, setting the dividers carefully down on the table then, folding his arms, fixes me with his gaze.

  I freeze, paralyzed with… with what? Fear? Embarrassment? Relief? I’m not sure. My stomach churns and clutches but at some level, I’m happy that the charade is over. I am discovered. I do not have to pretend anymore to be something I am not.

  But how will my captain react?

  Will he throw me off the ship?

  Eyes like pools of pitch pin me. “A girl,” he repeats. Shaking his head, he looks away, sucking at his cheeks. “How did I miss that? I kept telling myself you were too pretty for a boy.”

  “Sir, I…”

  He snaps the words. “Did I invite you to speak?”

  I hang my head. “No, captain.”

  He stands, moves around the table. “So, girl. Stand up straight. Let me have a look at you.”

  Is he angry?

  Again, I am unsure. There is something in his face
and it is not anger. More… calculation…

  “So, what is your name, girl? Your real name?”

  I speak in a whisper. “Josephine Caxton, sir.”

  “And you have conducted this charade… why exactly?”

  “I wanted to go to sea, sir. To have adventures. To see the world. At home, they wouldn’t even let me read a book.” Panic flares. “Please don't turn me off the ship.”

  “I am not going to throw you overboard,” he hisses. “We are not savages here. I will, however, deliver you to the nearest civilised port and you may return home from there.”

  “But, sir… captain… I want to stay.”

  He speaks with an expression of tried patience, each syllable carefully enunciated. “Your desire to stay, Miss Caxton, is beside the point. You cannot remain here. It is quite inappropriate. I shall have you returned to England.”

  Something like despair floods over me and I suppress a sob. His voice gentles. “You need not be afraid. You will be quite safe. You are English, yes?” I nod. “Good. So I thought. If you have no money, I will arrange your passage home with a reputable master. You need not…”

  I cut him off, blurting out. “I won't go home. I won't.”

  The captain’s eyes narrow. He stands, legs akimbo, arms folded. “And what awaits you at home that puts such fear into you?”

  “My fiancé.”

  He blinks. “Your sweetheart? What is so terrible about that?”

  “He is not my sweetheart. He was chosen for me. I cannot bear him. But my parents tell me I must marry him. Must share his bed. Must let him... touch me.”

  He listens, clearly paying attention. I fight the heat behind my eyes. “Captain, please don't send me back. Have I not done well here? I have worked hard. Done everything asked of me. Learned everything you have taught me.”

  He grows thoughtful. “You have, yes. Were you what you represented yourself to be, I would have no hesitation in continuing with your services. As it is…”

  Throwing courtesy to the wind, I interrupt. “What difference does it make that I am female? If I can do the work…”