Buccaneer hl-2

by Tim Severin

  'My name is Hector Lynch. I'm not a surgeon, but I have a few medicines with me which may help your friend here.'

  'I will be grateful for that,' answered the stranger. 'Allow me to introduce myself. I am Capitan Francisco de Peralta, commander of the Santa Catalina that you and your colleagues have assaulted. The wounded man is my quartermaster, Estevan.'

  "What do we do now? The black man needs proper medical attention,' Hector asked, addressing his colleagues.

  'We could bring Peralta to his ship, and get him to call on the crew to surrender,' suggested Watling. He spoke enough Spanish to have followed Hector's conversation with their prisoner.

  Cautiously they began to paddle their canoe towards the barca longa. One or two men could be seen moving about on deck of the stricken Spanish warship. There was a thin flicker of flame along the lower edge of the mainsail which had been set alight in the explosion. Someone was attempting to put out the fire, throwing water from a bucket. There was no sign of anyone from the boarding party from the piragua which was still on the opposite side of the Spanish vessel and out of sight.

  The canoe had covered less than half the distance when there was a second explosion, even more thunderous than the first. This time it came from the stern of the Santa Catalina and was so powerful that it snapped the mainmast and sent it crashing over the side, trailing tattered sails and rigging. A black cloud of smoke rose in the air. Soon afterwards came the sounds of wailing and screams of pain.

  Peralta went pale. 'God help my crew. They did not deserve that,' he muttered.

  When Hector and the others reached the barca longa, they found carnage everywhere — broad streaks of blood on the deck, broken and shattered gear, scorched planking, the smell of burning. Only about a quarter of the crew seemed still alive, and the survivors were either badly wounded or in a state of shock. Peralta was grim-faced, appalled by the destruction.

  Hector and Watling helped the capitan hoist the still unconscious black man aboard and lay him on deck, and Hector knelt beside the injured contremaestre, trying to remember how surgeon Smeeton had treated gunpowder burns.

  'Any idea who's the senior Spanish survivor?' someone asked. Hector looked up. It was Sawkins. Miraculously the hot-headed buccaneer captain was still alive though there was a bloody bandage round his head, and his buff coat was smudged with gunpowder. He must have boarded from the piragua.

  'This is Captain Francisco Peralta. He's the commander,' Hector answered.

  'Ask him about those other ships. We need to know how they are manned and armed,' said Sawkins briskly. He was his usual terrier-like self, eager for action and gazing towards the four vessels which could be seen at anchor in the roadstead off Panama. Hector marvelled at the man's unquenchable energy.

  The Spanish captain hesitated for a moment before replying. 'You'll find four hundred well-armed men aboard those ships.'

  On the deck beside Peralta the black man stirred and opened his eyes. They were filled with pain. It was clear that he was mortally wounded.

  'There's no one over there. Everyone already volunteered for this fight,' Estevan wheezed.

  Peralta started to contradict him, but Sawkins cut him short. 'I accept the word of a dying man, captain. You have fought well, and there is no disgrace. What we need now is a hospital ship.'

  The contremaestre had spoken the truth. There was not a soul on the anchored vessels when the buccaneers reached them, though someone had attempted to scuttle the largest of them, the galleon La Santissima Trinidad. A fire of rags and wood shavings had been deliberately set in her forecastle and several planks punctured with an axe. But the blaze had not yet taken hold and was quickly extinguished, and a carpenter was able to seal the leak. Then the wounded, both buccaneers and their enemies, were laid out on the galleon's broad deck to receive attention.

  'I doubt that our Captain Harris will live. He was shot through both legs while trying to climb up onto Peralta's ship,' said Jacques. He was watching Hector stitch up a deep gash in the shoulder of a buccaneer.

  'Does that mean our company has to elect a new captain?' asked his friend. He had watched surgeon Smeeton use sewing quill and thread to close a wound and was imitating his technique.

  'As soon as our wounded are sufficiently recovered, there'll have to be a council of the entire expedition to decide what to do next,' answered the Frenchman. 'Already some of the men are demanding to return to Golden Island. Others are saying that we haven't gained sufficient plunder yet, and they would prefer to continue with the expedition.'

  'How will you vote?'

  Jacques spread out his hands in a gesture of resignation. 'It doesn't make much difference to me. On the whole I'd vote to go back, but it will depend on who is elected as our new commander.'

  Hector turned his attention to the next patient. It was Capitan Peralta, whose burned hands and forehead needed treatment.

  'I'm sorry that so many of your crew were killed. They fought very bravely,' he said to the Spaniard. Fewer than one in four of Santa Catalina's crew had survived the carnage.

  'Never in my life have I seen such accurate musketry nor met such audacity,' answered the captain coolly. 'I thank God that the people of Panama are safe behind their walls.'

  'So you don't think that the city will fall?'

  'Last year the city councillors sent the royal exchequer an invoice for the cost of building their new city rampart. They asked to be reimbursed. The response they got from Spain was a question: had they built the wall of gold or silver?' The veteran Spanish commander gave a mirthless smile. 'I assure you it was made of great stone blocks, each weighing several tons.'

  Hector reached for a pot of ointment and began to spread salve on the man's wounds.

  'How is it that you speak such good Spanish?' Peralta enquired.

  'My mother was from Galicia.'

  'And what brought you here with this pack of thieves? You don't seem to be naturally one of their kind.'

  'I was trying to avoid one of these thieves, as you call them, and yet I now find myself under his command,' answered Hector. He did not want to go into details.

  'Then I advise you to get away from them as quickly as you can. When you or any of your colleagues fall into the hands of the authorities here — which will surely happen — you will be executed as pirates. There will be no mercy.'

  'I have every intention of leaving this expedition. And I hope I will be able to persuade my friends to go with me,' Hector assured him.

  'The quality of his friends often defines a man, though friendship sometimes brings sorrow in its wake,' said the Spaniard, and it was clear that Peralta was thinking of his contremaestre. Estevan had died of his burns.

  'What do you think will happen to you now?' Hector asked.

  The Spaniard tilted back his head so that Hector could smear the ointment on the forehead where the fire had burned away the hairline, leaving white patches on the skin.

  'I expect your colleagues will demand a ransom for me,' he said. 'But whether the authorities will pay is another matter. After all, I no longer have a ship to command.'

  'There will be other ships.'

  Peralta gave the young man a shrewd look. 'If you are trying to extract information from me about the strength of the South Sea Fleet, you will not succeed.'

  Hector blushed. 'I had not intended to pry. Perhaps your original vessel will be repaired one day.'

  The Spanish captain softened his tone. 'It is clear that you are not experienced in the ways of piracy. Your colleagues will not leave a single vessel afloat that they don't need for themselves.'

  Seeing that Hector looked puzzled, Peralta continued. 'They fear retribution for their crimes. As soon as your band of thieves moves on, the authorities will commandeer and arm every available vessel and use them to hunt down your gang of sea bandits.'

  As if to confirm the Spaniard's prediction, Captain Coxon was heard shouting orders. He was despatching a party of men to the other anchored vessels. They were
to return aboard Peralta's fire-damaged barca longa and complete what the explosions had failed to do.

  It was another five days before the wounded were well enough to attend a general council of the expedition. It was held on the deck of La Santissima Trinidad, the men massed in the waist of the galleon, their leaders on the quarterdeck. Coxon, Sawkins, Cook and Sharpe were there. Only Harris was missing as he had died of his wounds. Hector, watching from where he stood with his friends beside the rail, could detect a change in Coxon. Now that his rival Harris was gone, the buccaneer captain appeared even more arrogant and self-confident than at Golden Island, and his harsh voice carried clearly over the assembly.

  'We have now been three weeks on this Adventure and I have always counselled caution . . .' he began.

  'Caution! Some might call it craven,' someone shouted. Coxon coloured with anger. The flush spread unevenly across his face, leaving darker and lighter patches, and Hector was pleased to see that the effect of the spiked ointment had not yet fully worn off.

  'At our outset we agreed to take the gold mines at Santa Maria,' Coxon continued.

  'And small prize it brought us,' shouted the heckler, but Coxon ignored him this time.

  'We have defeated the enemy in open battle, but our position is exposed and difficult. Our supplies are perilously low. We are in unfamiliar territory, and the enemy will regain their strength and may sever our line of retreat.'

  'I dislike the man, but he's right,' muttered Jezreel standing beside Hector. 'We are badly overstretched.'

  Coxon was speaking again. 'I therefore think it prudent that we return to our ships waiting for us at Golden Island. Once in the Caribbean we can resume our cruising for purchase.'

  'What does Captain Sawkins say?' called out a voice. Sawkins' rampaging courage during the battle off Panama had made him immensely popular.

  Sawkins stepped up to the low rail which divided the quarterdeck from the waist of the ship and cleared his throat. As usual he spoke bluntly.

  'I propose we continue with the Adventure,' he said firmly. 'The walls of Panama are too strong for us, but there are towns all along the coast which do not yet know we are here in the South Sea. If we act boldly, we can take such places by surprise. We might even find their quays heaped with silver bars ready for shipment.'

  His words met with a low rumble of enthusiasm from several in his audience though the majority looked towards Coxon again, waiting for his rejoinder.

  'A wise man knows when to retreat, taking his spoils with him,' Coxon declared.

  'Half a hat full of pesos!' scoffed Sawkins. He was bright-eyed with enthusiasm. 'We can get twenty times as much if we have the courage to stay in the South Sea. I propose that we sail south and plunder as we go until we reach the land's end. There we round the Cape, and sail home, our pockets full.'

  Captain Coxon looked openly scornful. 'Anyone who believes that claim is putting his head into a Spanish noose.'

  'Do your people always quarrel so openly?' said someone quietly in Spanish at Hector's elbow. It was Captain Peralta who had edged his way into the assembly and was listening to the argument.

  'Can you understand what they are saying?' whispered Hector.

  'Only a little. But the anger in their voices is evident.'

  Hector was about to ask Dan whether he wanted to return to Golden Island when a loud husky voice rang out. It was the bald quartermaster who had served under Captain Harris. 'There's no point in putting this to a vote,' he shouted, and he marched up the companionway to the quarterdeck where he turned to face the crowd. 'Those who want to go back to Golden Island under Captain Coxon's command, make your way to the starboard rail,' he bawled. 'Those who prefer to stay in the South Sea and serve under Captain Sawkins assemble on the port side.'

  There was a low murmuring of discussion among the men, and a general movement as the buccaneers began to separate into two groups. Hector noted that the numbers were broadly equal, though perhaps a small majority had elected to travel back with Coxon. He looked enquiringly at Dan. As usual the Miskito had said little and was standing quietly watching what was going on.

  'Dan, I'm for going back to the Caribbean. What do you want to do?' Hector said. He had never mentioned Susanna to Dan, and now he was uneasy that he was not telling his friend the true reason for his decision. To his relief, Dan merely shrugged and said, 'I would like to see more of the South Sea.

  Few of my people have ever been there. But I will go along with whatever you, Jacques and Jezreel decide.'

  There was another shout from the quartermaster. 'Make up your minds and cut the chatter!'

  Glancing round, Hector realised that he and his three friends were almost the last people standing in the middle of the deck, still undecided.

  'Come on, Jezreel! Come with us!' shouted someone from starboard side where Coxon's volunteers were clustered. During the hand-to-hand fighting on the deck of Peralta's ship, Jezreel’s great height and his obvious fighting skill had made him a favourite with the buccaneers.

  'Best take your winnings when you're still on your feet, and not try another bout with a fresh opponent. You'll likely finish up with a broken face as well as an empty purse. That's something else I learned in the fight game,' muttered Jezreel. He strolled across to join the group.

  'Hey Frenchy! You too! We need someone to show us how to roast monkey so it tastes like beef.' called another of Coxon's group. Jacques, too, was popular with the men. Jacques grinned broadly and set off, following Jezreel.

  Hector was overcome with relief. Without special pleading his friends had chosen the course of action that he had wanted for them. He touched Dan on the arm. 'Come on, Dan. Let's join them.' Then he too started across the deck.

  He had not gone more than a couple of paces when Coxon's voice rang out. 'I am not having that wretch in my company!'

  Hector glanced up. Coxon was standing at the quarterdeck rail and pointing directly at him, his face working with anger. 'He's not to be trusted!' the buccaneer captain announced. 'He's a Spanish-lover.'

  A murmur ran through the crowd of onlookers. Hector realised that many of them must have seen him in quiet conversation with Peralta. Others would have known that he was responsible for saving the Spaniard from the sea.

  'He would betray us if it suits him,' Coxon continued. His tone had dropped to a low snarl now. Hector was open-mouthed, taken completely by surprise and so stunned by the accusation that he did not know how to respond. The captain pressed home his advantage.

  'Someone among us warned the Spaniards at Santa Maria of our coming. That is why we found so little plunder there.' His words dropped into the awkward silence as the general buzz and chatter ceased. 'I have often wondered who it was, and how the garrison was alerted. It was easy enough for someone to send a warning by the hand of his friend the striker.'

  Belatedly Hector remembered that in the last day before the assault on Santa Maria, he had seen little of Dan. The Miskito had been away on a hunting trip to obtain fresh food.

  Coxon was icily certain of himself. 'I will not include a traitor in my company. He stays here.'

  Hector had a quick glimpse of the vindictive expression on the buccaneer's face as the man began to make his way to join the group who had chosen him as their leader.

  'If he stays here, then I do too,' said Jezreel. He stepped out of the crowd and began to make his way back towards Hector. His great height made his departure very obvious.

  There was another movement among the men who had voted to follow Coxon. This time it was Jacques. He too was abandoning the group.

  Hector remained where he was, numbed by the turn of events as his two friends came back across the deck. 'Looks like we're staying in the South Sea,' announced Jezreel loud enough for all to hear. 'Captain Sawkins was always a better bet than Coxon.'

  They moved across to the port side where Sawkins' company was assembled and as they did so, Hector became conscious of more movement behind him. Glancing back over his shou
lder he saw that at least a dozen men who had previously decided to follow Coxon, had now changed their minds. They too were switching sides. One by one they were deserting Coxon's group in full view of the man they had chosen to follow only minutes earlier.

  Suddenly a hand gripped Hector by the shoulder, and he was swung round. He found himself staring into Coxon's livid face. It was contorted with rage. 'No man crosses me twice,' he snarled. The buccaneer captain was shaking with anger. His hand dropped towards his waistband, and a moment later Coxon had pulled out a pistol and had rammed the barrel hard into the young man's stomach. Hector felt the muzzle quivering with the force of Coxon's anger. 'This is what I should have done when I first laid eyes on you,' Coxon hissed.

  Hector tensed, already feeling the bullet in his guts, when an arm seemed to come from nowhere, sweeping down towards the pistol and knocking it aside just as Coxon pulled the trigger. The pistol ball buried itself in the wooden deck, and at the same moment someone kicked the buccaneer captain's feet from under him so that he fell heavily to the deck. Looking up, Hector saw that it was Jezreel who had deflected the pistol's aim while Jacques had tripped the buccaneer. Both men were looking grim.

  No one made any move to help Coxon though Dan collected the empty pistol which had been dropped, and handed it to Coxon once he was back on his feet.

  Aware that the entire company was watching him, the captain brushed himself down without saying a word. Then he stepped up close to Hector, and said in a voice so low that no one else could hear but thick with menace, 'You would be well advised to leave your bones here in the South Seas, Lynch. Should you ever return to a place where I can reach you, I will make sure that you pay for what you have done today.'

  ELEVEN

  Next morning Captain Coxon and his company were gone. They left before sunrise in one of the captured vessels, eighty men in all. 'Bastards, bastards, utter bastards!' announced one of the surgeons who had decided to stay on. He had just discovered that Coxon's company had taken with them most of the expedition medicines. 'How are we expected to do our job when we lack the remedies. They scamper off, tails between their legs, while we're the ones who can expect to see action.' To show his disgust, he spat over the side of the galleon.