by Mark Keating
Devlin ignored them. They were sailors. Hands and backs. He had never been one of them. If they killed him, they would tell everyone they would ever meet; their children would tell their children. If he killed them, it would simply be two more to his tally for his day at Execution Dock.
Instead he chose to stand fast, to take a moment of pride in telling Coxon's ear that he had that very morning handed the silver tube of lighting sticks, which unfortunately had shrunk to one, to the bastard son of a bastard, to blow the ship if he arrived on the beach in chains, to blow the ship if she were approached, to blow the ship and send the gold in pieces to the sands.
'And then what, you fool?' Coxon snarled. 'I have almost a hundred men on that ship! Release me and I promise you'll hang in England. You'll have weeks to live instead of hours.'
'Typical of an Englishman to give an Irishman the honour of some English rope. How fine you are to me, John.' He looked up to Davies and Gregory. 'Now, gentlemen, you have done grand today. If you go for me, I will kill your captain, be most assured. Then you will have the honour of dropping me, and the double honour of justifying to your officers why, when it be plain to all that a boat of men will be over shortly to end my desperation and remove your position and ease your present troubles.'
Davies and Gregory's minds took in the soft words. They looked for confirmation or command between the pirate and their captain.
'Throw the arms away,' Devlin soothed. 'As close to the sea as you can, and wait for your officers, and this'll all be done soon enough.'
'Davies!' Coxon boomed. 'I'll see you hanged if you loose your weapon! Mark me, man! Gregory! Shoot Davies if he drops his gun!'
'He has a point, Captain.' Gregory's voice faltered. 'The boat's already at the Starling. The others will be here soon.'
True enough, the longboat had reached the ladder home. The women clambered up first, being helped through the entrance port by the hand of Thomas Howard, who reminded them all of some young man or another, or so they told him as they curtsied and he blushed.
The crew were occupied with reeving ropes to lower the captain's gig from its resting place above the hatch between the masts. Aft, the jolly-boat was already being lowered from the stern, with fifteen of the toughest young 'uns Anderson could find.
'Mister Howard!' Anderson yelled from the fo'c'sle. 'See those women are removed to the comfort of the Great Cabin, if you please, sir! No lolling now!'
Howard saluted, and guided the throng aft, just as Dandon pulled himself through the port, amused at the thought of an English deck beneath his feet.
'And who are you, sir?' Anderson called below. Dandon turned and removed his hat. Enthralled by the activity and noise all around, so different from the languid, laughing times of the pirate vessels, he returned to his French attitude.
'Forgive me, monsieur. I am medecin for the island. I have been rescued by the mercy of your great Capitaine Coxon.'
Anderson tipped his hat. 'Lieutenant Anderson. Monsieur, avail yourself of our hospitality by removing yourself from my deck. Mister Granger, kindly take this man to Doctor Wood's quarters, if you will.'
Dandon lifted a suggesting finger. 'Ah, if I may, Lieutenant, your good capitaine has distinguished me with an appointment to chaperone the affairs of the ladies.'
'Very well. Mister Granger, take this fellow where he may do least damage.'
'And my case, Lieutenant? The chest of my trade?'
Anderson bellowed to Cole and Williams to bring the chest aboard, then return to the boat to accompany him and as many souls as the longboat could carry back to the island.
Davies and Gregory's weapons lay idly on the shore, their muzzles staring out to sea. The men themselves sat, covered in shame, eyes also seaward, watching the three boats drawing slowly towards them from the Starling. Their arms rested on their knees, straw hats pulled low on their heads, a head-turn and several feet away from the pirate and their captain.
'You may have half an hour remaining to you, Patrick,' Coxon stated. 'I will probably try you on the shore, if I mind to.'
'You have no horse and cart to hang me from, Captain. No derrick.' Devlin sighed.
'I need a tree and some rope. I have acres of both.'
They rested opposite each other. Coxon in white shirt and waistcoat sat upon his coat. Devlin posed on one knee, gun in hand at Coxon's chest, aware of and constantly passing a glance to the packed boats, inching like the dawn to break his peace.
'Tell me, John.' Devlin grinned. 'Why do you not suppose that I have fifty men behind me in those jungles, waiting for your gallant lads? Why so sure that I have lost?'
Coxon calmly lifted the crossbelt over his head and set the cutlass down beside him, far enough away to cause no alarm in the pirate. There was a relief of cool sweat where the belt had been hanging across his shoulder. 'I was of a notion to tell Guinneys my thoughts. That there was one situation that vexed me, that did not ring.'
'And what was that, John? Do tell.'
'You were still here,' he said. 'There was a boat on the shore. You had taken the gold upon your ship, and had stayed to be captured by that yellow buffoon and a Frog corporal. No sense in that, Patrick. To my mind.'
'I stayed with a couple of my men to gather arms and belly timber. That is all.'
'Nonsense,' Coxon snorted. 'I am also of the mind that you have no men on this island else we would be with them now. But' - he paused, speaking slower now - 'you are not desperate, and that intrigues too much. A desperate man would have dragged me back to the fort where he has a loaded cannon, food, arms. Time even. Time to forestall the beating of drums…' Coxon was looking to the trees high up behind them, stretching out of the jungle, their waving heads being caressed by the smoke from the wreck. 'But you don't go back to the fort. Why not, Patrick?'
Devlin kept his eyes to the sea, turning his back to Coxon. 'My time cometh. I'm prepared for that. I have one shot. I have all I need.'
Coxon spoke his words as if counting coins. 'One boat on the shore. You still in the fort. Your brigantine blown to hell.'
'You have become undone, Captain. Hush now.' Devlin sounded as confident as he could now that he could hear the shouts of the coxswain.
Coxon gleamed with satisfaction as the inevitable clicked within him. 'The gold is still there That's what jiggered in my head! Tell me I'm right, Patrick.' Coxon even laughed. 'Ho! You poor, fool boy! You don't even have the gold!' He rocked on his haunches, powered by his mirth. 'And all your men have run!' He laughed harder, hoping to make Devlin turn his head from the boats and show him his crestfallen face.
Devlin did not turn. He had not moved as Coxon laughed at his back. Coxon breathed deep, sated from his laughter, and watched the last of the fires die out on the water. 'You could have left with the gold, Patrick. You had the fort. Yet you did not. Why? Why would you stay?'
Devlin still did not turn round. Coxon could make out Anderson's face amongst the throng in the longboat.
'Ah! Of course!' Coxon snarled. 'We had you, did we not? We came before you had a chance to remove the blessed fortune. Cornered you like a mouse. That is it! Am I not right, Patrick? Trapped you before you had a chance to signal for help. Before events and the Lord got the best of you, my boy!'
Devlin turned then. There was a look of beatitude, an air of calm about him as if he had come to the beach merely for the beauty of the afternoon.
'Aye,' he said as if to a child, 'I had no manner at all, John, of telling a soul that events had gone astray. If only I had prepared for such calamity, as you yourself might have done.'
He stood up, using the pistol to beckon Coxon back and up away from the beach, out of musket range from the longboat.
Coxon's mind raced ahead; a panic chilled his blood as he looked to the black smoke, the only cloud in the sky hanging morbidly above their heads and he realised the other reason why Devlin had blown the ship.
Without a thought of the pistol and its bearer, he sprinted to the shore, stamping on hi
s coat and cutlass, racing past Gregory and Davies, who stood, pulled up by Coxon's breeze as he hurtled past. He splashed into the crystal spume, his hands cupped to his mouth, aiming his bellow to Anderson.
'Get back to the ship!' he yelled. 'Get back! Get back now!' He watched Anderson's face mouth something in return. They were still a few hundred yards out and Coxon hurled his voice like a spear. 'Pirates! The pirates! Get back to the ship! Get back to the bloody ship!'
Dandon reclined on the cushioned lockers by the stern window, savouring a glass of Coxon's Bordeaux. Idly he brushed the white powdery sand from his crossed left-leg stocking and worn-out shoe.
Either side of him women lolled, peacefully, merrily emptying Coxon's decanters down their necks. Others sat around the table, wolfing bread and cheese, awaiting the sausage and sauerkraut that Midshipman Howard had trotted off to fetch.
'So, Dandon.' Annie belched from the captain's table, blowing crumbs from her bread-filled cheeks. 'What happens now? We be prisoners or what?'
'I think not, Annie.' He smiled. 'We are guests. Although it may be a temporal circumstance. I would keep your shoes on. For once.'
Annie resumed her feast, discovering the delight of grapes and cheese in the same mouthful. Dandon leaned back with warm contentment.
He admired the women greatly. They bent like trees in the storm, accepted everything and expected nothing. Their history was always a day old and they asked only for a full belly by twilight's end.
If he could do one good endeavour this day, to charm his soul back to peace, it would be to treat them like a handful of eggs and return them safely to their nest.
He cast an eye out of the starboard window. The comfort and warmth of the cabin, the flowing wine, took him back for a moment to a time he waited in a tavern, just as comforting, back on a Virginian road, for a carriage to take him to the port and to the Bahamas with dreams of salterns and riches. The day he waited, wearing the same coat, but with the stolen purse of his master swelling his pocket. A similar pane of lead-rimmed glass between him and destiny, waiting for the sound of hooves rocketing into the courtyard, or for the next fellow to enter the inn and lay a hand on his shoulder and ask him to come along.
Today the waiting was the same. The comfort came from not having control of which came first. Just drink, eat a little, and wait for the hand on the shoulder or the carriage to take you away.
He found himself straining to see the eastern edge of the island, his cheek almost against the pane to see as wide an area as he could, only to find the imperfections of the glass breaking up the ocean as if it were built of bricks.
'How long will that bloody boy be with my sausage?' Annie squealed, breaking Dandon's gaze.
'I'm sure he will be here soon, my dear Annie. And, please, all of you, eat well. And stay in this room. I may leave, for a moment only, but I will return. Promise your friend, and doctor, that you will only open the door to myself after I am gone.'
'Why?' Sarah asked.
'It will prompt and encourage me to return. I may need such a vow.' He returned to his watch upon the window.
'You are touched, Dandon. You know that?' Annie jerked her chin upwards.
'Never to mind, my lady: I have an elixir for your touch, I shouldn't wonder.' He grinned at them all in a sweep of the room, just as Midshipman Howard came in with a box brimming with gastronomic delights, struggling to place it down under the swarm of kisses that hammered his flushing cheeks.
'Mister Howard,' Dandon pipped. 'May I enquire as to what occurs above?'
'Strangest matter, sir,' Howard exclaimed. 'The boats are swimming back! Everyone is in an eel of a flap!' He looked about at the disarray of the cabin, his eyes drawn to the captain's cot and the three pairs of white legs dangling there.
'Ah,' Dandon sighed. 'I had heard tell of another ship of pirates attached to this Devlin. Perhaps it has been seen?'
'Oh, no, sir.' Howard's voice was shrill. 'But here's to hoping. I am gunner captain no less, after all, and I am acting lieutenant with Mister Davison!'
'You have fought before, then?' Dandon asked.
'No, sir. Practice all. But Captain Coxon has drilled us fine. Two barrels of powder-worth. I should return to welcome Lieutenant Anderson and beg your leave.'
Dandon stood and looked around for his hat. 'Captain Coxon is returning also? And the pirate Devlin?'
'Not to my eye, sir.' Howard backed out of the cabin. 'You must excuse me for my duty, sir.'
'Mister Howard?' Dandon stepped a pace forward. Howard cocked an eyebrow. 'I will be on deck shortly.' He smiled to the boy. 'Join me if you find a moment, won't you? Perhaps allay my nerves a little with a small tour?'
Howard awkwardly raised the corner of his mouth. 'Aye sir, if I can,' and clicked the door softly closed.
Devlin watched the yells and confusion as the three boats reversed their rowing. He had moved down to Coxon's coat and picked up the crossbelt and sword with one hand, passing it with ease over his head.
Coxon and his two sailors still paid him no mind. He contemplated running for the comparative safety of the stockade. No, he was master here, still the lion amongst the lambs.
He bent down and travelled his hands through Coxon's coat, finding a pouch of prepared cartridges and a generous lump of dried beef, smiling at the remembrance of Coxon's old habit.
Sucking and chewing on the leathery hide, eyeing the world about him like a twelve-point stag stepping out at dawn, daring the hunt, he laboured his mind once more towards that which he knew, and that which he did not.
Peter Sam was to come to the island, attack the Lucy, encourage the French to rescue his gallant, motley-dressed crew. Upon which moment, his pirates would seize the island, reinforced by the threat of a heavily crewed frigate yonder.
That had not happened.
An English frigate had happened, captained by his former master. An unfortunate hand of cards that he had lost.
He swallowed a mouthful of the salty meat, the weight of which rang in his empty stomach. Then there was the other plan. The one that he had hidden from all who did not need to know, 'lest someone tries to hang you for it', or, worse to the hearts of men, betrays you for its worth.
Over narrow flame, the candlelight shivering in the lack of air in the Shadow's hot Great Cabin weeks before, an accord was reached between Black Bill, Peter and their captain, before they parted ways past Cabo San Antonio.
Should the island be 'with company' they were to hold back and wait for a signal that all was well, or all was hell, and act as their own code required.
Hands were shook, pistols sworn upon. But weeks at sea with nothing but the horizon to remind one of the future can change men's ideals, promises just words now and, as Guinneys had remarked, ' What souls you gather around you, pirate.'
Wait, then. He looked at the pistol. One pistol. One shot. Devlin would not hang. He resumed his bold stance, his shield of confidence.
'Ho, John!' A rampant holler. 'I am glad you still keep the end of the beef before a battle!'
Coxon twisted slowly round, Davies and Gregory following like sheep. Coxon was satisfied that the boats had turned, although the frustration of still being prisoner on Devlin's island swelled bitterly within him.
He became aware of the soaking of his shoes, envying the bare feet of his fellows; a small thing, but it sharpened his hate.
He walked out of the surf, stockinged feet heavy, and he cast an eye to the musketoons resting in the sand.
'Davies, Gregory,' he said calmly, 'run for your guns. Cut him down.'
Silently, Davies and Gregory calculated the drop Devlin had on them, with the black eye of his pistol steadfastly and faithfully readied against their tomorrow.
'Best not, Captain,' Gregory mumbled. Then, 'He would fire upon you first, I'm sure.' Honour retained.
Coxon held out his right hand. 'Your cutlass, Gregory,' he commanded.
'Sir?'
'Hand it to me.' Coxon's eyes fixed on the silhoue
tte of the pirate.
Gregory protested, reminding all to draw attention to the pistol opposing them.
'Your cutlass,' Coxon continued. 'I have the measure of this man. Naught else but a coxcomb. He will not shoot me.' The crude wooden hilt slid into his fist. 'For then you would go for him. He would have no ransom.'
He weighed the cutlass with a dip and rise of his wrist. No balance. Blade heavy. A butcher's cleaver. 'He needs me alive far more than I can stand to look at him living.' Already Coxon had left their side, stepping up the beach towards the pirate.
Devlin's palm tightened around the pistol, then grew looser as Coxon's steps came near.
'Hold, John,' he voiced. 'I will drop you yet.'
'Face me now, Patrick!' Coxon yelled. 'If your men come, I'll show them your head!' His blood was in his temples now, his skull a boiling cauldron.
Devlin's belt took the pistol, its bulk pressing into his gut. His hand passed to the French-made cutlass, its lighter blade almost flying free.
He stepped back, arms open, cutlass almost behind him, inviting Coxon to dance. He lowered his head, part crouched, keeping his weight low and spread wide. He did not speak. He saved his air as if about to dive from a sinking deck. The two began to pace a circle in the sand, measuring out their area of quarter.
'This is folly, John.' Devlin smiled. 'We have no bones against each other.'
Coxon felt peace now, as if decision, the realisation of imminent death, brought tranquillity. He stopped. A body's length from Devlin.
'You will find, Patrick' - he checked his blade, the sun dull upon its grey metal - 'that men have very little against one another. Yet they kill.' He dived towards Devlin's left side, a feint attack to bring the pirate's sword arm into a defence.
Devlin edged back from the thrust, keeping his sword aside. Coxon raised his, stepping closer, sideways to Devlin's blade as he spoke.
'That is my cutlass, Patrick. I will take it from you.'
"Tis not the first of yours that I have taken. Although that one be with my ship upon the bed there.'
