THIRTY-THREE
THE DAY was hot, and Fallon, Somers, and Elinore passed the afternoon under a canvas awning rigged on Sea Dog, drinking lemonade and talking about this and that, almost like a family. Cockburn Harbor was quiet, a few fishing boats sailing in on a light, indifferent breeze, Harp and Avenger at anchor, their men at small tasks. They could hear hammering ashore, Carteret remodeling Hewes’s cottage to be his own, showing real commitment to his new job.
Somers watched the interplay between his daughter and his captain with interest and a growing sense of appreciation. He liked what he saw in Fallon, their relationship easy and open. Well, almost open. Somers had not broached the fates of Nilson and Hewes to his captain. There was not a single pinprick of conscience that bothered him; that was not it. But if Fallon was going to be part of the company or, hell, maybe part of the family, he deserved to know the rage inside Ezra Somers.
It had always been so. As a boy his parents had sent him away to boarding school in England. It was what wealthy Bermudians did. In school, young Somers had first experienced the extreme cruelty and arrogance endemic in the British class system, where entitlement was commonplace, cleverness was highly valued in boys, and hard work was looked down upon. And Somers had had to work hard. Being an outsider, a Bermuda boy, he had never fit in, never made real friends, and found books his solace.
He had returned home to Bermuda vowing never to return to England, and he never had. But working in the family business he met British gentlemen by the scores, and he could smell a phony around the corner. He had held his nose when he’d hired Nilson, going against his better judgment because finding someone who qualified and who was willing to work on a remote island seemed too good to be true. And it was.
Nilson was one of a type of Englishman who played cards at Blacks or a club like it, who lost more than he won, no disgrace except one had to keep up appearances, and who in the end simply had to have more income. The only option left was to get a job, egads and all that. But working for someone in an office was simply deplorable, especially because one should be running the company, not working for it.
No money actually exchanged hands in Nilson’s office; that was all done on Bermuda. But Nilson had still seen it as a route to riches, far away from the eyes of the home office, for he was clever. No doubt he had made contact with the pirates as soon as possible, offering his services in exchange for money. And enlisting Hewes in the scheme lest he be found out and his crime be reported. Of course it was illegal, but the thing is, Somers found it offensive.
Nilson needed killing; and Hewes too, come to that. Not just because they were responsible for theft on a massive scale, and for the death and starvation of innocent men, but because they were finally getting what they deserved.
Fallon listened intently while Somers told him what had happened on the beach. He began with Fallon’s letter, then his own suspicions aroused when Nilson blatantly lied about the route and Bishop’s role. He shot both Nilson and Hewes when they tried to escape, simple as that, really.
Fallon nodded at the telling, not casting any judgment, and Somers could feel him wondering what he would have done in similar circumstances. Somers guessed he knew the answer.
FALLON HAD listened to the story of the killings on the beach with admiration and growing respect for Somers. Here was a man who saw what needed to be done and took care of business. One thing: Anyone who crossed swords with Ezra Somers had better be ready. He looked at Elinore’s face as her father ended his story and saw only love in her eyes, no judgment. They were all three of a mind, then, and the conversation under the awning moved on to lighter topics.
Fallon found himself staring across the water at Harp. A very pretty ship, black hull with buff trim and gun ports, a mermaid playing a golden harp at her bow. He didn’t envy Rear Admiral Davies the problems he faced; in fact, he was surprised Davies had stayed on Grand Turk as long as he had. Bishop had been buried almost five days ago.
As Fallon thought about Davies he saw the admiral’s gig lowered away, and Davies climb down into it. Rather than row toward Harp, however, or the town dock, the gig’s bow was pointed squarely toward Sea Dog. Coming to say good-bye, no doubt, thought Fallon. Davies was decent that way.
Up the side Davies came, stepping under the awning to greet them all; he’d gotten to know Ezra and Elinore since returning from burying Bishop at sea and was warm to them, a shared history beginning to form. Fallon called for fresh lemonade and Aja, always at hand when he was needed, scampered off to attack the lemons.
“Captain, you are looking remarkably well,” said Davies as he sat down. “Really, your ordeal is barely written on your face.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Fallon. He saw Elinore blush and knew she was feeling at least partly responsible for his quick recovery. “My advice is to avoid falling booms at all costs, however. Bad for the constitution.”
Laughs all around. Lemonade all around. Really, Fallon thought, if you could just squint your eyes and not see the worries of the world, life was delightful. Even Somers was relaxed, not his usual compact mass of barely contained energy.
“If I may, I would like to share some intelligence I received from the British Admiralty two weeks ago,” said Davies, growing serious. “By now it may be more well-known in certain harbors than I would like, but as it could have a large role to play in the outcome of the war, and perhaps your own plans, I want you to know.”
Davies had everyone’s attention now, the little group drawing closer, listening intently, with Aja hanging just outside the awning, but listening. Fallon in particular paid attention, noticing the hair on his arms getting up, not sure why, the emotion taking its time getting to his brain.
Then Davies told them about the intelligence received at English Harbor, the twenty tons of treasure perhaps even then loading in Panama, and Spain’s intent to give it all—every last bar and bag—to France to help prosecute the war with Great Britain.
Eyebrows shot up. The value of twenty tons of silver and gold could not be estimated in your head, but Fallon figured it would take five or six large ships to transport it all.
“I assume the treasure flotilla is escorted?” he asked.
“Usually the ships are heavily guarded and commanded by experienced captains. We have the French effectively blockaded, at least the Atlantic squadrons, and it is no doubt well-known that the Royal Navy is somewhat, shall we say, less powerful in the Caribbean.” Davies smiled ruefully, and his expression told a story of endless pleas and demands for more ships and men, unheeded.
The group was silent as the news went down. Fallon thought of Britain, locked in an intractable war against a ravenous country, the outcome of which was by no means certain. Yes, twenty tons of bullion could tilt the table against the Mother Country and weaken the chance for victory, no question.
“What about pirates, sir?” Fallon asked intently. “If they hear about the flotilla they’ll go after those ships with a vengeance.”
“Pirates are always a concern for the flotas, of course,” Davies answered. “But these Spanish ships sail in convoy and the pirates are usually more effective sailing in the shadows, swooping down to attack stragglers or single ships scattered by a storm. I believe that word of the flota is on the waterfront in Nassau, however. How could it not be? And pirates are thick as sand fleas there.”
Somers and Elinore had remained silent, watching Davies speak mostly to Fallon. It was Elinore who spoke up for both of them now.
“Admiral,” she said. “You mentioned that this information might affect our plans. I believe it must affect your plans, as well. I don’t believe you will stand by and just let these ships pass. Not when it could be the ruination of Great Britain. But what can be done?”
Fallon looked at Elinore and saw the color rise in her cheeks, perhaps sensing as he had that the real purpose of Davies’ visit was at hand.
“I think we have only one chance, Miss Somers,” responded Davies. “I have o
nly one frigate, and that without a captain. I have several small brigs and sloops, based in English Harbor, but they could be anywhere on patrol at this moment. And, at any rate, they could be useful but not decisive in battle.”
A pause here, the slightest deeper breath. Even Aja crept closer.
“Captain Fallon, you have proven yourself resourceful and brave. I wish you were still in the Royal Navy! And that is what I am asking today. With your permission, and of course the blessing of your employers,”—here a nod to Somers and Elinore—“I would like to appoint you into Harp as acting commander, a temporary commission only, to join forces with me against the flota.”
Fallon sat stunned. He had expected something, but not this. Of course he would not do it, could not be expected to do it. Command a frigate, for God’s sake! Not knowing a soul aboard ship, and a tainted ship at that, with a crew likely ill trained and resentful at the humiliation Bishop brought aboard by his cowardice. No, it would not serve.
“I see you don’t like the idea, Captain Fallon,” said a perceptive Davies. “I wouldn’t blame you for saying no. There are a host of reasons why this is a terrible idea, but one reason why this is a very good idea: It is the only idea I have to help England.”
So that was it. Plain and direct. Somers and Elinore both looked at Fallon, giving him all the room to say yes or no, promising in the look their full support either way. Fallon’s jaw showed a hard no.
Davies opened all the gun ports now, nothing to lose, hoping for a lucky shot. “One last thing to reassure you on several obvious points. Whether it will convince you, I doubt. But Harp’s crew is hungry for a leader and a chance to redeem the ship. I believe you would find them willing in all respects to follow you. The first lieutenant is a dolt, and I would take him aboard my own ship rather than saddle you with him. You could choose your own first, or I can provide one from Avenger. Likewise any of your crew you want to bring and, of course, who would want to serve would be welcome aboard. Finally, one last thing: If we are successful in capturing treasure, you will share in the spoils. I will personally see to that. Captain, I do not say this in any way to hold out a carrot, only to state what is fair. I don’t think you are driven by profit, in any case.”
The whole conversation sat on their table like a dinner that no one was hungry to eat. Davies, who was good at situations, made to leave.
He rose and bowed to Somers and Elinore, then extended his hand to Fallon. “Know this, please. I will not think any less of you if you decline the role of commander, Captain Fallon. This is my problem to solve, not yours.”
“Then what would you do, sir, if I should refuse?” asked Fallon.
“I honestly don’t know, Captain. But I would do something.”
THIRTY-FOUR
THE NEXT day the three of them met again, Somers and Elinore and Fallon. They were sitting at a small café in the settlement, drinking coffee that was not very good but was very hot. They talked about Davies’ proposal back and forth, this way and that, and by the second cup of coffee everyone knew it was Fallon’s decision to make. Alone. Somers made it clear he would support whatever that decision was, and Elinore bit her lip and concurred.
Fallon left the café, fair to say, deep in thought. If he were honest with himself, he was not overcome with loyalty to Great Britain—the British had made a hash out of governing Bermuda, and general resentment persisted on the island as a result. France, however, was Great Britain’s enemy, and the aggressor. Bermudians had been ambivalent about fighting the Americans in their War for Independence because they were sympathetic to anyone attempting to escape the yoke of Britain. He bore no such feeling for France. Oddly, however, he was sympathetic to Davies, who shouldered enormous responsibility and whom he had grown to like and respect. So, a conundrum.
That afternoon he asked Beauty to his cabin so he could lay it out for her, because sometimes she just knew him. He felt himself itching for action after so long away from it, but what were his options? He started with Clayton, whereabouts unknown, so still a menace but one they could not attack alone. Then the treasure flotilla, likely sailing soon for Spain, and heavily armed. Prizes rich beyond all imagination but, again, no chance for Sea Dog against ships-of-the-line. And finally, there was Davies’ request for Fallon to become acting commander of Harp based on his fears for Great Britain should the bullion get through to France. For Fallon, this was the craziest option of all.
Beauty heard him out, nodded her understanding, and stared at Fallon for a full minute, saying nothing. The hands were at sail drills in harbor, and Fallon could hear the young boys skylarking, Aja’s voice cutting through the noise. Then Beauty rose to look out the stern windows toward Harp riding peacefully at anchor. She stared another minute.
“You know, Nico,” she said finally, without taking her eyes off Harp, “the thing you were always good at when we raced on St. George’s was knowing when to sail off on a flyer, be damned what any other boats were doing. If you saw that you weren’t going to win, given the way things were going with wind and tide, you said fuck it and tried a different tack. Many times I remember being in the lead thinking that fucker doesn’t stand a chance, and then off you’d go. And then way off in the distance you’d tack, catch clean air and a fresh slant, and I’d think shit! And then here you’d come with a bone in your teeth, barreling toward the finish line. Sometimes I won anyway, but sometimes you won, against all odds. I always admired your instinct for making a hard call when you didn’t have good options.” She paused and turned around to face him now, bringing herself to her full, short height. “If it’s action you want, if you want a chance to win, I think you don’t really have a choice. I think you’ve got to take a flyer.”
Fallon looked at her, heard the truth of what she was saying, her words matching the instincts he’d been trying hard to fight.
“One thing, Nico. This time I’m not keeping course while you sail away. I’m tacking off, too.”
“I won’t let you do that,” Fallon said emphatically. “You’re bound for Bermuda, and you and the hands need to go home. If it comes to that, I’ll make that an order.”
“Well, Mr. Acting Commander,” said Beauty sarcastically, “you won’t be giving orders to a private ship. I seem to remember that didn’t work for Bishop, and it won’t work any better for you now. We signed on together, all the hands, and once they hear about the treasure ships they’ll be damned if they sail to Bermuda. Besides, you’ll need eyes you can trust, and a friend you can count on. You know I’m right. Sea Dog helps the odds.”
She walked to him, put her hands on his shoulders and said, “I’m going to get the ship ready for sea now. We’ll need some help from Davies: a surgeon’s mate or loblolly boy or two to help with wounded, maybe some powder. I’ll give you the list. Now, Nico, you have work to do on your own. I’d start by explaining sailboat racing to Elinore. Believe me, she already knows what you’re going to do. You just need to explain why.”
EVENING.
Fallon found Somers in the office as usual, reviewing numbers. They talked business for a minute, both hoping that Smithers and Wallace were back in Bermuda now, unloading cargo, having brought payment from Charleston buyers for several tons of salt. Somers was in full support of Fallon’s decision to take temporary command of Harp and Beauty’s demand to sail in support under his wing. He himself would return to Bermuda with Elinore on the sloop they’d sailed in on a week ago. It was a brief conversation, as if Somers had been expecting it all along. Good luck. Good hunting. God speed.
That done, Fallon walked up the stairs to see Elinore, who, upon opening the door and seeing his face, threw stoicism aside and leaped into his arms. Beauty had been right; she had known.
They walked on the beach; the dark night had only the white lines of the surf to interrupt the blackness. They walked like lovers do, leaning into each other, heads barely apart, saying private things. In a soft sand valley between two dunes they lay down, and anxious fears were quickly pushe
d aside by need and desire. Fallon fumbled with her clothes in the dark until she glowed white above him; her hands found him and coaxed him gently, and then urgently, until she released a deep primal scream that held both agony and ecstasy and stunned them both senseless with its ferocity before they held each other, trembling, and cried.
THIRTY-FIVE
THE LOVELY sloop that Elinore and her father had sailed on from Bermuda carried them out of the harbor the next morning. Elinore was at the taffrail, a single, still hand in the air, her hair blowing wildly in the wind. Fallon stood in the bows of Sea Dog, his right hand placed over his heart. They remained like that until the sloop turned north, for home.
Taking control of his emotions, Fallon called for Aja to make a signal to Avenger: Request permission to join.
Moments later the reply came: Welcome aboard, Commander. Repair onboard Harp.
Fallon and Aja had their dunnage lowered into the waiting boat and, with a wave good-bye to Beauty, were rowed across to Harp. Aja would come aboard as Fallon’s steward and nominal coxswain, with no real responsibilities except to look after his captain. It was a role he fell into naturally, and Fallon was sure he would have stolen aboard if he hadn’t been asked.
Davies was already there to greet them when they came aboard, and he shook both their hands with enthusiasm. Ramsbottom had already transferred to Avenger as Davies had promised. When all the dunnage was finally aboard, Davies called Harp’s crew together to explain this very unusual situation. The crew gave knowing looks to one another as Fallon stood beside Davies; they knew who he was and the price he had paid off Andros, and all eyes were on the deck when he was read in as their acting commander with a captain’s full powers over every detail of their lives. Davies saluted his new commander and stepped aside. Fallon stood blinking in the sunshine, not really knowing what to do.
The Bermuda Privateer Page 14
