And after that first day, I never went ashore again. I stayed aboard the Tempest Galley, well remembering the danger I was in and what might happen if Gideon Fist caught me alone. As it was, Fist came aboard the Tempest Galley multiple times, supposedly to speak with Josiah, who was the fleet commander. But each time, his gaze roved about, seeking me. Always I surrounded myself with a half dozen or more men, suddenly finding interest in dice.
As July passed into August, whispers circulated like gusts of hot air. The southwest monsoon was beginning to wane, and the pilgrim fleet would pass any day now, any hour, thirty ships or more. With no more defenses than a child, each ship would be loaded to the gunwales with jewels, silver and gold coins, coffee, and wine, its cabins filled with wealthy passengers, each dressed like royalty.
Meanwhile, Timothy and I assembled grenadoes. We packed gunpowder and small shot into hollow balls of lead, with a fuse ready to be lit and thrown. (I planned to accidentally throw the grenadoes into the water during battle, where they would fizzle and die. Unless, of course, I saw Fist coming to get me, in which case I prayed for the accuracy to toss a grenado down his throat.)
Then, for three days, we choked and gagged on the fumes that wisped aboard. Abe Corner stood on the shore, bandanna tied around his nose and mouth, stirring a giant cauldron filled with pitch, tar, saltpeter, sulfur, and other such stinky substances. So diligent was Abe in his task of making stink pots, flinging himself away occasionally for a good juicy cry and a blowing of his nose, that the crew got together, myself included, and voted him an extra share of the booty He smiled and waved at us from shore, stumping around on his wooden leg, snuffling loudly, eyes red as the devil.
One day, following a sword fight lesson that left me helpless as a struggling fly lying flat on my back panting and groaning, Josiah withdrew the point of his cutlass from my chest and said, “You've improved, Daniel.”
The sun blazed behind his head, hurting my eyes. “I—I have?”
“Aye. You ducked when you should have, advanced when you saw the opportunity and beat me back with a strength and skill you've not possessed before.”
“But you won. Again.”
I saw the glint of a smile. “Your day is coming. You already surpass most men on this ship—most men in the fleet, for that matter, who count on their brute strength rather than their skill and agility.”
He helped me to my feet, and I sheathed my cutlass, my arm trembling with fatigue. Despite myself, I felt pleased under his approval. Can I really beat most men in the fleet? Including Fist?
For the rest of that day, I admit, I strutted about the deck. I strutted until nightfall, until I finally collapsed with a clank of weapons on the deck next to Timothy, who rolled over sleepily, muttering something about Daniel acting like an idiot.
I drifted into a deep sleep, dreaming of fancy footwork, flashing swords, daggers quivering in the mainmast, when someone shook me awake. I sat up, groggily rubbing my eyes. Timothy had been shaking me a long time, it seemed, for everyone else was up though it was still the dead of night.
“Wake up, Daniel, wake up. It's the fleet. The pilgrim fleet. It slipped past us in the dark.”
hispered orders whipped about like fire in a whirlwind—from Josiah on the quarterdeck, from Basil in the waist, echoed from one man to the next.
“Make sail!”
“Aloft sail loosers!”
“Lead along topsail sheets and halyards, jib halyards!”
The deck reverberated with the trample of feet. I heard the clank of iron, coils of rope slapping the deck, the clap of sail as yards of canvas unfurled overhead.
I had no time to wonder how many ships had slipped by, or how big they were, or whether or not they had escaped us entirely, for I flung myself down the compan-ionway to my station at the oar. Timothy was already there, and I slipped in beside him. There were twenty-three sweeps on both port and starboard, making a total of ninety-two men who grunted and strained as they pushed and pulled to the rhythm of Caesar's drum.
Overhead, still, the deck thumped with footsteps, until finally there was no noise except the deep beat of the drum, the breathing of the men, the groan of timbers, the slosh of water, and the creak of oars. The swaying lanterns cast a sickly yellow light through the masses of glistening, stinking bodies.
And with each beat of the drum, words echoed through my head. Hated words. Cowardice or deserting the ship in battle is punishable by death.…
I had taken an oath upon the Bible against cowardice. Yet I did not truly wish to participate in this act of piracy, for piracy was no more than thievery and sometimes even murder, and I was neither thief nor murderer. And never had I taken an oath to commit either. It was therefore necessary to appear courageous, fearless, as if I was born to the life of villainy from the moment I first drew breath, while at the same time doing no harm.
Playing this game, this charade, was like dancing atop a dagger while trying not to fall. And the thinking of it caused a churning in my stomach.
0 God, O merciful God.
After the Tempest Galley had gained sufficient speed, we hauled our sweeps inboard and rejoined the rest of the crew on the upper deck.
I spent the next hour in fervent prayer. Checking my weapons, the cannon, praying, praying, my prayers like a sour taste in my mouth.
Just then, Basil whispered harshly from the bowsprit, “Not a noise, now. 'Tis time for the cat to catch a mouse.”
I spied the straggler, visible under a half moon, sailing ahead of us by no more than a cable's length, seeming all alone. Even with most of her sail set, she appeared sluggish, like a plump old woman waddling along. The Tempest Galley would be on her in mere minutes. She appeared unaware of the danger lurking off her starboard quarter, unaware of the scores of cutthroats crouched behind the bulwarks or standing in the shrouds, ready to shoot anyone who might be tempted to sound the alarm.
Behind us, there was no sign of either the Defiance or the Sweet Jamaica. We had outsailed them both.
I hunched behind the bulwarks myself, scrunched between Timothy and Caesar, Caesar's teeth gleaming eerily in the moonlight. Beside me, Timothy whispered, “Not long now, Daniel, and we'll be rich men. It'll be worth it in the end, believe me.” His eyes were wild, rounded, tinged with both excitement and fear. “Pray they're loaded to the gunwales with gold. And while you're at it,” he added, “say a prayer for me as well.”
“Aye. Have a care for yourself, Timothy.”
“You too.”
I wiped my hands on my breeches and fingered the hilt of my cutlass, wishing it were already over, dreading what was to come.
Then I heard the scrape of a boot beside me. It was Josiah, crouched down, his hand gripping my arm almost painfully. “If anything goes wrong, Daniel,” he whispered in my ear, “stay near me. And watch your back.” Without waiting for a reply, he moved away.
“Stand ready, men,” Josiah said softly.
I saw the hulk of a ship looming above me, so close I could have reached out and grazed her sides. I heard the creak of her timbers, heard Josiah whisper, “Boarders away!”
Out from the Tempest Galley soared a dozen or more hooks, snagging the rigging. The instant the lines were hauled tight, pirates swarmed aboard the other ship, silent as moonlight.
I placed the blade of my dagger in my teeth and followed— swinging on a rope across the watery chasm, onto the deck, dagger instantly in hand. The pirates had already captured the helmsman and three other men on deck. They were stuffing their mouths with gags, tying their hands behind their backs, weapons in a pile at their feet.
Josiah signaled to several of his men, glanced at me, and then strode to the door of the captain's cabin beneath the quarterdeck, cast open the door, and entered. I hurried after, blinking back sweat, wanting to prevent any bloodshed. Truthfully, I did not know what Josiah would do.
I entered the cabin on the heels of Basil Higgins, Caesar, and Will Putt, hearing Timothy breathing behind me. The cabin was
dimly lit, a single candle burning in a glass-encased lantern that rocked gently back and forth. Beneath the lantern was the captain's table. Playing cards lay strewn across the table and scattered across the floor. The captain of the ship sat on a velvet settee behind the table, cards slipping from his hand as Josiah leaned across the table, pistol cocked and leveled at the captain's face. “Surrender your ship.”
There were two others who had been playing cards with the captain. Pistols were aimed at each of their heads as well. A pipe dangling from one of their mouths fell and clattered to the floor.
Upon Josiah's words, the captain blinked, licked his lips, and said in a heavy accent, “Yes, yes. Yes, yes.”
Josiah smiled, stood back, removed his cocked hat, and gave a sweeping bow—whether mocking or not, I did not know. “You are a wise captain,” he said. “Rest assured we shall treat you and your passengers with honor and safety.” To the rest of us he said, “Open up the holds, boys. Let's see what she has in store for us.”
And so we took possession of the Jedda without bloodshed, without a shot being fired, and with much pleasantry, if truth be known. My relief was so intense that I felt like singing to the heavens.
The crew and passengers were herded to the bow and kept under guard, while the pirates swarmed over the ship, prodding every cuddy, crevice, and corner for treasure.
I volunteered to stand guard over the crew and passengers, as it was my intention to both protect them from wanton violence and to reassure them. “If you stay still, no one will be hurt,” I kept saying, smiling, hoping they could understand me despite the obvious language barrier. Men, women, some children, most of them dark-skinned—Indian, I presumed—were dressed in bright silks and sleeping clothes, some weeping in each other's arms.
There is nothing to fear so long as you do nothing rash, I thought.
Several passengers looked European, including one of the men who'd been playing cards with the captain. I pointed at myself and said, “Daniel Markham,” and then pointed at them and asked them their names. I asked them if they spoke English, but they just stared at me blankly, saying nothing.
I wanted to tell them that if they were quiet, the pirates would take what they wanted and leave them safely behind. That it would not do to make the pirates angry. That I would protect them with my very life if need be. But such words would be wasted upon ears that could not understand, and so I gave up trying and just stood with my arms crossed, a pistol in each hand to protect them against rogues and robbers, trying to look tough enough so that none could accuse me of shirking in my piratical duties, of not fulfilling my oath.
I was dancing on the point of a dagger quite well, in my opinion.
Meanwhile, the hatches were thrown open and lanterns brightly lit. Men shifted the cargo from the Jedda to the Tempest Galley. Chests, barrels, crates—all were filled with finery and riches. There was much laughter, backslapping, grinning, even giggling. One stupid oaf gleefully shot off his pistol, immediately receiving a cuff on the head from Josiah. “Fool!” he cried. “There are more ships to capture this night. And if we do not alarm them to our presence, we can take them as easily as we took this one. Now hurry—there is still much to do, and we must be on our way.”
In the midst of transferring the cargo, the Defiance luffed under the Jedda's stern, the Sweet Jamaica not far behind. I couldn't hear what transpired between Fist and Josiah, but soon after, the Defiance fell off the wind and sailed after the vanished fleet with the Sweet Jamaica in her wake, sails and towering masts dimly outlined in the predawn light.
The sun was midway up the sky by the time we took leave of the Jedda, speeding after the Defiance and the Sweet Jamaica with all sails set.
Like many others, when I wasn't on duty I fetched a few hours’ sleep on the fo'c'sle deck, exhausted from our night's adventure. Though we had captured a great quantity of wine, Josiah had ordered that there would be no drinking until we finished hunting down the fleet. We were still on battle alert—on the chase—and so long as we were, Josiah had ultimate command, with the power to drub or kill any man who disobeyed.
Night had fallen, and I was asleep on the fo'c'sle deck, curled into a ball, when Timothy shook me awake again. “Daniel. There's something you've got to see.”
I heard a low murmur coming from the waist deck and scrambled down the companionway behind Timothy, yawning, wondering what the fuss was about. A clot of pirates stood near the mainmast. Timothy wormed his way through the crowd, tugging me by the wrist.
When we reached the inner circle, I gasped.
Bracelets, necklaces, crowns, and scepters encrusted with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds sparkled in the lantern light. Gold coins, silver coins, loose jewels …
“Tis a king's ransom,” whispered Timothy. “We're all bloody rich.”
“Aye,” agreed Basil, who sat gazing up at the enormous pile, his eyes glittering like sapphires. “More than any man could earn in a hundred lifetimes of labor. Two hundred lifetimes, maybe. And this is only part of the booty The rest of it, mates, delicious booty all of it, is below.”
As a body, the pirates moved closer, the circle tight. The heat was stifling, our breathing loud.
I knew I should leave; I knew that this was none of my business, none of my concern. But my feet seemed to have grown roots, and I could no more move than I could fly
Over the next half hour, we watched as Basil divided the treasure. There were many suggestions as to how he should do it: move a ruby from this pile to that one … exchange the giant emerald for the hundred little diamonds … three necklaces were worth one crown. But Basil ignored everybody, did it his own way, and soon little piles emerged.
Then he began calling names, and each man duly came forward, accepting his portion without complaint. Man after man. Timothy went forward when his name was called, holding open a canvas bag into which Basil poured his share. When Timothy came back to stand beside me, to my surprise, tears glistened upon his cheeks.
Then Basil said, “Daniel Markham.”
I turned toward Basil, blinking hard, saying nothing, realizing everyone was watching me.
“Come get your share, lad.”
I opened my mouth to refuse, but nothing came out.
I am not a pirate.…
If you do not take it, they will simply divide your share among themselves. It would be as good as wasted upon rum, gambling, women, and other such wicked debaucheries.…
But I am not a thief.…
Think of Faith, think of her child. You must care for them someday. It is right that you do this. Much good can come of it instead of much evil.
Besides, no blood was shed.…
No blood …
I realized I had stepped forward. Someone thrust a canvas bag into my hands. I held it open, treasure tinkling as the bag grew heavy, heavy …
For you, Faith.
For the next day and night we sailed hard across the Gulf of Aden toward India, every stitch of canvas full and bellied. On the morning of the second day, just as a pale stream of sunlight pierced the horizon, the lookout cried, “Sail ho! One point off the leeward bow!” After looking through his eyeglass atop the fore crosstrees, Josiah reported that the Defiance and the Sweet Jamaica were chasing two ships of the pilgrim fleet. They were miles ahead, and we would be on them by midafternoon.
Then, surprising us all, bold as brass, Timothy drew his cutlass and ran to the rail, hair flogging in the wind. He screamed like an animal, high-pitched and shrill. His eyes bulged. He swiped his cutlass through the air. “We'll get you, you bloody devils! Run away from us, will you!”
There followed a moment of stunned silence before men drew their weapons and screamed alongside Timothy—a bloodthirsty chorus. Pistols banged. The air swirled with smoke.
And upon Timothy's words, the roar of the pirates, the pistol fire, an excitement unlike any I'd ever known raced up my spine, cool and prickling.
O God, O God, forgive me.
ometime after
high noon, after we downed a hurried meal of salt pork and biscuit, we passed both the Sweet Jamaica and the Defiance. Four or five cable lengths ahead of us sailed the two pilgrim ships, the closest being the Surat Merchant.
She was broad across her beam, armed with thirty guns. Swirls of gold surrounded the high stern windows. Atop her mainmast flew a flag—green, with two crossed golden scimitars. Basil said it was the flag of the Surat grand mogul.
Even at the distance, I glimpsed people glancing back at us over the transom. I well imagined their terror. I well imagined the commands, the preparations, the weeping among the passengers, the secreting away of jewels and money in the hopes that the pirates wouldn't be any the wiser.
All the excitement I'd felt when Timothy had issued his bloodthirsty scream had vanished in the heat of the day. Instead, I felt nothing but shame for my momentary weakness and a pity for these people who were about to be attacked. I prayed they would be wise and surrender quickly for then they could expect quarter, mercy, even gallant treatment if the mood so struck the pirates. But if they did not surrender …
I mopped the sweat from my face with my kerchief and then tied it around my head. For the hundredth time I checked my weapons—my pistols, my boarding ax, my cartouche box, my daggers, my cutlass. Both of us shirtless, Timothy and I stood on the upper deck in plain view. There was no sense hiding behind the bulwarks, for the two ships were no doubt well aware of who chased them.
The powder box was positioned nearby. Timothy and I had filled it earlier with twenty-five shots. Should we need to fire our long guns, we were to be powder monkeys, hauling the shots from the powder box to our respective cannon crews. The swivel gun in the bow was already loaded, primed, and ready to fire. Basil stood beside it, awaiting orders.
The Surat Merchant rose and plunged through the swells, whitewater dashing her rails. But her mad dash to escape was futile, for there was no ship so fast as the Tempest Galley.
Voyage of Plunder Page 9
