by Tim Severin
Otway had an embarrassed look on his face. 'Of course I've said that we all want to join. But the ship is already overcrowded with more than a hundred men aboard, and they are reluctant to add any more.' He was avoiding looking at the others. 'I am known to them already, so the crew is willing to add me to their number, together with my partner over there.' He nodded towards the one-eyed Bay Man who had worked with him at logwood cutting. '. . . and naturally they'll take Dan aboard if he is willing.'
'Why naturally?' asked Hector. He was not sure whether he wanted to join such suspect company but it rankled that they were being so choosy.
'The buccaneers always need strikers,' Dan explained. 'They are not fishermen and they don't have time to go ashore and hunt. They rely on Miskito strikers to get fish and turtle for them, otherwise they would go hungry.' He turned to Otway. 'Tell your friends that I'll not join unless my three friends here come with me.'
Otway went off to consult with the watering party, and returned with the news that if Dan would bring Jacques, Jezreel and Hector out to the ship, they could make their case to the assembled crew.
When the little group came aboard with the last of the full water barrels, they found the crew already gathered in the waist of the ship and looking on with interest. Standing in the front rank was a vigorous-looking clean-shaven man, wearing a cocked hat trimmed with green ribbon. Hector presumed he was Captain Harris, though he took no part in the proceedings. The spokesman for the buccaneer company was a bald seaman with a gravelly voice hoarse from years of shouting.
'That'll be the quartermaster,' muttered Jacques. 'He's as important as the captain. Divides the plunder and looks to the running of the ship. Issues arms and all the rest.'
It was the quartermaster who opened the meeting. Addressing the assembly he announced, 'The Miskito tells me that he will only come with us as a striker if we take on his companions. What do you say?'
'How about the Miskito himself. Is he worth it?' called a voice.
'Judging by the number of turtle shells on the beach, he is,' answered someone who must have been ashore with the watering party.
'That big man looks right for us,' observed another. 'But he could be a clumsy slug with that antique gun of his.'
Jezreel was still carrying his old-fashioned matchlock musket.
The quartermaster turned to Jezreel. 'Your gun might be good enough for hunting cattle, but on this ship we don't use firelocks. By the time you've reloaded and fiddled with the match, your enemy will be on you.'
'Then I would use this,' announced Jezreel sliding the ramrod out from under his musket's barrel. He pointed it at the watching crowd. 'Any of you fellows willing to run at me with your cutlasses? Point or edge, it will not matter.'
The quartermaster beckoned to two crew men who stepped forward and drew their cutlasses. But, aware that their comrades were looking on, their charge was half-hearted. Jezreel merely stepped to one side and dodged them.
'Is that the best you can do?' he asked, goading them.
Now his two attackers were genuinely annoyed. Their resentment showed in the angry slashes they launched at their opponent. One man aimed for the giant's head, the other for his knees. But neither blow landed. The rod in Jezreel's hand darted out, faster than anyone could follow, and both his attackers dropped their weapons, cursing. Each was holding his hand where the ramrod had flicked across their knuckles.
'Stage fighter!' cried someone from the back of the crowd. 'I seen that trick done before.'
'Very likely,' called out Jezreel. 'Would anyone else like to try their luck? I'll face three of you at a time, if you wish.'
There were no takers, and the quartermaster intervened. 'We'll put it to the vote. All who wish to accept this man into our company raise your hands. Any objector speak up.' There was a silent show of hands.
'Who joins with you as your mate?' asked the quartermaster.
'Both my friends,' Jezreel answered placidly, sliding the ramrod back in place.
'Only one companion, that's the custom,' insisted the quartermaster. He was frowning now.
'How about that fellow with a brand on his cheek,' suggested an onlooker. 'He looks as if he can handle trouble.'
'Can either of you read or write?' The unexpected question came from a grey-haired man soberly dressed in a dark suit who was standing next to the captain.
Before Hector could answer, Jacques spoke up. 'Not as well as my friend here. He makes maps and navigates, and speaks Latin and Spanish and talks to me in French.'
'I don't want an interpreter. I require an assistant. Someone who's more adept than just a loblolly boy,' said the grey-haired man. From the way he chose his words it was clear that he was well educated.
'That's settled then,' said the quartermaster. He was anxious to close the meeting. 'We take on the big man and his French friend at full share. The other one, if he shows he's any use, can be signed on as mate to our surgeon. His share can be agreed later.'
As the meeting broke up, the grey-haired surgeon walked over to Hector and, after asking his name, enquired, 'Have you any medical experience?'
'None, I'm afraid.'
'No matter. You will learn as we go along. I am Smeeton, Basil Smeeton, and I had a medical practice in Port Royal before coming along on this adventure. Where did you get your Latin?'
'With the friars in Ireland where I grew up.'
'Good enough to converse in that tongue?'
'I think so.'
'Sometimes when discussing a patient's details,' said Smee-ton meaningfully, 'it is better that the patient himself is kept in the dark.'
'I understand. But you mentioned a loblolly boy.'
'Surgeon's helper. Changes dressings and feeds gruel to the bedridden. I'm expecting more than that from you.'
Surgeon Smeeton's urbane manner was at such odds with the rough company aboard a buccaneer ship that Hector wondered why he was there. As if reading his thoughts, Smeeton went on, 'Where we are going — which, incidentally, is a land called Darien on the Main - I expect we will be meeting peoples and races whose practice of medicine is very different from ours. Much may be learned from them, perhaps in surgery but more likely in the use of plants and herbs. It is a subject which interests me greatly. I hope you'll be able to help me with my enquiries.'
'I will do my best,' Hector promised.
'There should be plenty of time for research as we won't be the only medical team with the expedition. Every crew like ours recruits at least one surgeon to sail with them, sometimes two or three. You might say that they enjoy the best medical services that their plunder - or prize as they prefer to call it -can buy.' He gave a wry smile. 'They even take out insurance against injury.'
'How can that be?' asked Hector. He did not think that Captain Harris's crew looked wealthy enough to afford medical care.
'If a man gets permanently disabled during the cruise, he receives a special bonus at the end when the quartermaster divides up the prize - this much for a lost eye, more for a limb that has to be amputated, or a hand blown off, and so on. The rates are all agreed at the start when the crew sign their mutual agreement. Very enlightened.'
By now Jacques had reappeared, a brand new musket in his hands. He was looking pleased with himself. 'How about this! Latest model flint lock issued by the quartermaster. Gave one to Jezreel as well.' He pulled back the cock and squeezed the trigger. A shower of sparks fell from the striking plate. 'No more fiddling around and keeping slow match dry in the rain.' He turned the gun over to show Hector the gunsmith's mark. 'What's more, it's French-made. Look, magasin/ royal. God only knows how it got here from King Louis's armoury.'
Hector took him aside and said in a low voice. 'Are you sure that you want to join up with this crew?'
'Too late. Jezreel and I have already signed articles. We are promised one full share of any loot after the investors have been repaid. You'll be able to put in for your own share as soon as you've proved your worth. Why, you may even get a s
urgeon's share and a half, and that's as much as the gunner and the carpenter.'
'What about the Bay Men who are being left behind?'
'Oh, they'll be picked up by other ships passing this way,' Jacques said casually.
'But from what the surgeon just told me, we will be away for some time and I had been hoping to get back to Jamaica.'
'But you only recently left there . . .' began Jacques. He paused and gave Hector a shrewd glance. '. . . any special reason?'
When Hector did not reply, the Frenchman rolled his eyes and said, 'Don't tell me! It's a woman.' Hector felt himself starting to blush. 'Who is she then?' Bourdon asked, smirking. 'Just someone I met.'
'Just met! And you were hardly there any time at all. She must be exceptional.'
'She is.' Hector was increasingly tongue-tied, and fortunately Jacques detected his embarrassment.
'All right then. I won't say any more. But don't be too surprised if she breaks your heart.'
The surgeon wasted no time introducing Hector to his new duties. As soon as the ship had set sail, he led Hector to where a sailor was sitting in a quiet corner of the deck, with a bandage round his leg.
'Did you ever see a Fiery Serpent?' Smeeton asked.
'No, I don't think so.'
'Then I'll show you one.' Addressing the sailor, he said, 'Now, Arthur. Time to take a pull.'
The sailor carefully unwrapped the bandage and Hector saw that it covered a small stick attached to his leg by a thin brown thread.
'Watch carefully, Hector. I want you to do this job in future.' The surgeon took the stick between finger and thumb and rotated it very, very gently, winding in the thread. Looking closely, Hector saw that he was pulling the thread out of the flesh of the leg. 'That's your living Fiery Serpent. Getting it out hurts like the devil,' announced the surgeon. 'Strain gently, just enough to ease it out, an inch or two at a time, morning and evening. Pull too hard, and the creature will snap, and disappear back inside the flesh. Then you get an infection.' Turning to the sailor, he said. 'You may put back the bandage. Tomorrow my assistant will take a turn or two.'
As they walked away, Hector asked, 'What length will the serpent be?'
'Two feet would be normal,' replied the surgeon. 'Of course it is no serpent at all, but a flesh-eating worm. It causes a burning sensation as it is drawn out, hence the name.'
'And how does the victim acquire such a parasite?'
Smeeton shrugged. 'We have no idea. That is the sort of knowledge we may gain from enquiry among the native peoples. Right now you can put your Latin to use by helping me arrange the contents of my medicine chest. I threw it together in a hurry when leaving Port Royal and it is still in disorder.'
He brought Hector to a small cabin under the foredeck. 'As surgeon,' he said, pulling out a leather chest from where it had been wedged in a corner, 'I have the privilege of a cabin to myself, because it can also be rigged as a sick bay. Everyone else, even our captain and the quartermaster, has no right to any special accommodation. At night everyone lies down and sleeps wherever he wishes on the ship, on the plank as they say.'
He undid a strap and threw back the lid of the medicine chest. Inside was a jumble of phials and jars, small wooden containers, packets wrapped in paper and cloth, and objects which looked like dried plants, as well as an array of metal implements which reminded Hector of a carpenter's tool kit.
'Before we sailed, I was provided with one hundred pieces of eight from the common purse to stock it with what I considered might be needed.'
Smeeton reached in and picked out what looked like a pair of tongs with rounded tips. He snapped the jaws together with a clacking sound. 'The speculum ani,' he announced, 'useful for dilating the fleshy lips of a wound when extracting a bullet. In fact it is designed for dilating the arse gut.' He gave Hector an amused glance. 'You might think that a surgeon's work on such a venture as ours would be concerned mostly with the effects of battle, but it is not.'
He waved the speculum in the air to emphasise the point. 'The chief ailments which afflict the sailor are concerned with his digestion — constipation and the flux. For the former we can administer a syrup of cassia pods or licorice juice at one end or, if there is a stoppage, we may dilate the fundament with this implement and extract the offending blockage at the other end. That will provide comfort and remedy.'
Casually he tossed the speculum back into the medicine chest where it fell with a metallic clatter among the other instruments. 'Over the next few days,' he went on, 'I want you to clean and oil all these instruments, sharpen them as needed, and wrap them in well-greased cloth. They must not be allowed to rust.'
Looking into the chest, Hector noted wicked-looking saws and chisels, clamps and drills, pincers and nippers of different shapes and with strangely shaped jaws, even an ebony mallet.
Smeeton pulled a small cloth-bound notebook from his pocket. "This is something else you will need. I want you to write a list of all the plasters, unguents, chemical oils, syrups, electuaries, pastilles and simples that you find, together with their quantities. I will advise you what each is suitable for so that you may make your own directory.'
Hector had got as far as listing that a plaster of sweet clover would, in Smeeton's words, 'dispel windiness', when their ship reached Golden Island. Six other vessels were already waiting at the rendezvous, a small bay facing directly across to the mainland little more than a mile away. The anchorage was ideal for their clandestine purpose. From seaward it was completely hidden behind the island's rocky peak with its cover of thick scrub and stands of ceiba trees, while a narrow fringe of beach provided level ground for a camp. Numbers of men could be seen moving about under the coconut palms, and a row of cooking tents had been set up on the beach.
'This is almost as large an undertaking as when Morgan sacked Panama. The size of that raid is famous among my people,' commented Dan looking out over the assembled shipping.
'Surely the Spaniards will have taken precautions against another attack,' said Hector. Standing on deck beside the Miskito, he had been thinking about Susanna yet again and wondering if any of the buccaneer ships might later be returning to Jamaica. If so, he would try to persuade his friends to go back there with him.
'The thirst for gold is a great lure,' replied the Miskito. He pointed to a canoe which had just entered the bay and was working its way between the anchored ships, heading towards the beach. 'I'd say those fellows may have something to do with what happens.'
'Do you know who they are?' asked Hector. The dozen or so occupants of the canoe were too dark-skinned to be Europeans. One of them was wearing on his head what looked like a metal bowl.
'They are Kuna, the people who live over there in the mountains.' Dan gestured towards the mainland where ranges of forest-clad hills rose in rank after rank, wreathed with grey wisps of low cloud. On Golden Island the weather was as brilliant and sunny as when they had joined the ship. By contrast the mainland gave the impression of being gloomily drenched in drizzle and mist.
'Hector Lynch,' said a voice behind them. Startled, they turned to find Captain Harris had come on deck. 'Your companion, the Frenchman, said that you speak Spanish.'
'That's true. My mother is Spanish.'
'I need you to accompany me ashore. The captains are holding a council with the Indian chiefs. No one among us speaks the Kuna tongue, but the Indians have lived alongside the Spaniards long enough for them to have a knowledge of their language.'
'I will do my best.'
Harris led the way to a rope ladder, and soon Hector was being ferried ashore with his captain. As he passed through the buccaneer flotilla, Hector could see that Harris's vessel was the largest in the company. The next in size was an eight-gun sloop which seemed vaguely familiar, while the smallest was a pinnace so tiny that it carried no cannon at all. Whatever the buccaneers had in mind, Hector concluded, it depended on their strength in numbers of men, not the firepower of their vessels.
He followed Harris
up the beach. Standing in a group beside the path were the Indians who had just arrived by canoe. The Kuna were not as tall as the Miskito, the only natives of the Caribbean he had met so far, but they were well set up and sturdy, with dark brownish-yellow skin and straight black hair. Their faces were dominated by strong noses from which deep furrows extended down to the corners of their mouths, giving them a solemn and severe expression. The leader appeared to be the man who wore the metal bowl on his head which proved to be a vintage Spanish helmet made of polished brass. Like most of his fellows, he was stark naked except for a funnel-shaped penis cover of gold fastened by a string around his waist. From his nose dangled a crescent-shaped plate of gold. Yet the Indian who most attracted Hector's attention was the only Kuna who covered his body. He was wrapped in a blanket from his ankles to his neck. All of his visible skin - his arms and feet, and face — was a ghostly unnatural white and disfigured with red blotches and bites. When he turned to look at Hector, his eyes were half closed, the lids fluttered, and specks of blood were seeping from cracked lips.
Harris politely doffed his hat as he walked past the Kuna, and Hector followed him into the little clearing in the coconut grove where the other buccaneer leaders were already assembled. Hector counted seven captains, together with their aides, and they were standing in small groups, talking together. One of the captains, who was facing away, reached up and scratched the back of his neck. All at once, Hector knew why the eight-gun sloop in the bay had seemed familiar. It was the vessel which had intercepted L'Arc-de-Ciel. Even as the realisation dawned, John Coxon turned to greet Peter Harris and his eye fell on Hector. The quick flush of anger which discoloured his features left no doubt that he recognised the young man.
'Captain Harris, it would have been better if you had been with us earlier,' Coxon grated. 'We have been in consultation with the Kuna for these past five days, and are ready to make a decision.'
'I bring the largest company so it was only right that you should wait,' retorted Harris, and Hector detected a simmering rivalry between the two men.
